Hiiii. Thank you for your patience with like…anything from me. I swear I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing consistently again, and I actually have a joint fic in the early planning stages with winter_machine right now (!), but here's a little somethin' somethin' if you're a Maddison fan to hold you over in the meantime. TW: final scene includes references to sexual abuse (all historical, and nothing graphic or descriptive).


Chapter 2: Different, This, Safe


DIFFERENT, SCENE 1 - REFERENCES

Chapter 52. This chapter officially welcomed newborn Ruby into the family, but was limited in terms of just Mark-Addison-Ruby…or at least *happy* Mark-Addison-Ruby, since one of the later flashbacks happened post-Clara meltdown. Ruby was born via C-section, arriving a little after seven in the morning. Lynette, Mark's receptionist/stand-in mom/blanket and Christmas stocking maker/honorary aunt to the girls, came over to watch Clara when Addison and Mark went to the hospital.

Chapter 49. When Ruby was born, it was stated that Mark and Addison felt she looked like her big sister.

Chapter 47. The first section was about Mark and Addison adjusting to parenting a newborn Clara, and admitting it's not always easy, and they don't always feel confident in their abilities.

New York City-based friends in various chapters/friends they made along the way/friends mentioned at Clara's first birthday party, and who came back in the penultimate chapter when Mark was mulling over the idea that although his and Addison's lives had expanded in the past few years, perhaps because of Derek's renewed presence, their lives would be able to expand more: Johnny (hockey friend from Mark's youth…and I threw in a name for his wife in this scene, since only Johnny's "family" was referenced in chapter 48). Ian and Sabrina (hospital friends; their daughter Lucy is one of Clara's friends, and they eventually attend the same school). Tasha and Mel (friends from Addison's yoga class she started going to when Clara was an infant; their son Booker is friends with Clara). Charlie and Anna (Charlie is one of Lynette's sons—and Charlie and Anna's older son, Rowan, was the one who had a crush on Addison, which was talked about in chapter 43). And Paulina is the girls' nanny.

. .
. .

Different

"Mark…?"

He glances up to find Addison looking at him from her hospital bed, blinking while she adjusts to the pale sunlight filtering into the postpartum room. "Hey there," he greets as she inhales sleepily and directs her gaze toward their daughter.

"Is Ruby doing okay?"

"She is." He offers Addison an encouraging smile. There is no reason to believe their newborn—napping in his arms—wouldn't be okay, but Mark understands his wife's maternal instincts are kicking back in now that she is awake again. "She's perfect."

"Am I"—the next question arrives a bit slower, Addison's thoughts clearly still sleep-muddled—"doing okay?"

"Also yes. Though I guess the order you asked those in confirms you'd defy best practice and put your kids' oxygen masks on before your own."

"As if you wouldn't do the same thing a thousand times over. Can I hold her? If it's not too much…" Addison trails off when Mark stands up, easing out of the nearby rocking chair and moving with confidence in a way he did not manage to with Clara initially. He held Clara from the very beginning, but it took a couple days for the steps he took while supporting her to stop looking so cautious, so painfully slow in Addison's eyes. "Thank you," she tacks on after he settles Ruby in her lap. "And did you tell Lynette—"

"I sent a quick text to let her know Ruby's here, and that you're both doing well." They had agreed sometime after midnight, while Addison was still laboring, that since Lynette was watching Clara, she would be the first person they would share Ruby's arrival with, and they would relay their good news to Everett, Addison's parents, Archer, and a handful of close friends after that. "I told her I'd send a picture and more details later."

Addison pauses, considering this response. "Did I already ask you that earlier…about Lynette?"

"You did." Mark tucks a loose strand of hair which has escaped the knot secured on top of her head back behind her ear. "But, that's okay. You weren't feeling too hot when they first brought you into the recovery room."

Her eyes had fluttered tiredly as Ruby rested on her chest, and eventually nursed, and Addison had whimpered each time the L&D nurse pushed against her lower belly. It had something to do with her uterus, and Mark knows he must have read at one point in the postpartum section of the book Lynette had given him when Addison was pregnant with Clara what specifically the purpose of this was—and surely the same thing happened after Clara herself was born—but he could no longer remember the reasoning, and he figured if Addison—even in her groggy, exhausted state—wasn't questioning Elaine's ministrations, he probably shouldn't either. But, that period after Ruby was born was beautiful in its own way, too, and he thinks his wife—moments of physical discomfort aside for the two hours they were in the recovery room before being brought to a more private one—felt the same way as they began to connect with the newest member of their family.

"No. Not at first, at least." Addison wrinkles her nose. "You should probably send Lynette a picture now. I'm sure she's practically salivating for one. And maybe she can bring Clara by this afternoon so she can meet her sister? Like…like maybe after her nap, assuming Clara goes down for one?"

"Yeah." Mark is aware she is anxious to see Clara again. And he is too, honestly, but given that it was a long, long night, getting more sleep—and not only Addison, but him as well—first, if they can, is probably advisable. "Yeah, that sounds good." He nods reassuringly. "I'll get in touch with Lynnie and we'll figure out a plan."

Addison lowers her chin to kiss Ruby's forehead. Birthing a second child has been different, in the sense that when she held Clara, she became a mother for the first time, which naturally means she was already a mother when Ruby was placed in her arms this morning. But, the love she feels this time is no less special. It remains boundless, meaningful, all-consuming. She looks just like Clara, Addison can recall saying. It was the first thing she said after Hi, Ruby. And she can remember Mark agreeing with her. And, the thing is, Ruby does look so much like how her big sister looked as a newborn. But she looks like Ruby, too. Addison can see that now, upon closer examination. There are subtle differences. The shape of Ruby's chin. The fullness of her lips. A little more hair, perhaps. And, in addition to all the love sweeping through Addison, she can feel excitement, and anticipation, that in the coming weeks, months, and years, she and Mark will get to find out what else makes Ruby distinctly "Ruby," too.

"It'll be different, this time around," she acknowledges, voice low. "Ruby won't get some of the things Clara got. Our undivided attention, for one thing." She feels a little bad about this, even though there are still two parents and two kids, so she and Mark will be able to implement a divide and conquer approach, and, if anything, Addison knows she should probably feel worse for Clara in this regard, at least for the first few weeks. Her recovery is going to require more rest this time, which is not something an active toddler will understand, and since she is Ruby's food source, she and Ruby will not be separated much. "But"—Addison grins, wanting to maintain a positive outlook—"Ruby will get other things. Like, parents who feel like they know what they're doing."

"To be fair, Clara didn't know we weren't always sure of ourselves. We had her fooled."

"True."

"And it's not just us, right? When we're ready for more people to meet Ruby, we have people who would be willing to watch the girls, if Lynette and Paulina aren't available, or others to watch one so we can get time with the kiddo who needs one-on-one time," Mark reasons, ticking off members of their inner circle—a circle that has grown over the past year—in his head. Ian and Sabrina. Tasha and Mel. Charlie and Anna. Johnny and Brooke. And Savvy and Weiss, of course. "Or, at the very least, if we don't want to leave the kids, someone can come over and hang out with us, and hold Ruby so our arms can have a break."

"You threw that last line in there for my brother's benefit," Addison replies. As much as she loves her brother, and as much as Archer loves Clara—and will love Ruby, too—the idea of Archer babysitting isn't something she and Mark are willing to consider until their children are more self-sufficient. Archer is comically at a loss with what to do with infants and toddlers if left without support. "Although you don't really like when he holds Clara."

"No, bunny, I don't like when Archer holds Clara when he holds her with one hand because his other hand has a drink in it."

"In his defense—"

"There's a defense for that?"

"Archer's gotten better about not doing that. Oh, and Ruby also has married parents. That's different, too. Clara didn't have that when she was born. Not that it matters to us, but to her maternal grandparents—"

"It matters," Mark interrupts with a faint chuckle.

"Don't worry." Addison peeks down at Ruby, who has remained sleeping during their exchange, but arcs her head to the side, as though attempting to take all this in. "We're just bantering, sweetheart. We promise you'll have a good life with us."


THIS, SCENE 2 - REFERENCES

Chapter 47. There was a lot of discussion about adjusting to parenting a newborn Clara, and as mentioned in the italicized bits ahead of scene 1, Mark and Addison did not always feel confident in their abilities when it came to caring for Clara at first. Yes, even Addison. Also, in retrospect, whew, even though this was absolutely one of my favorite Atlas chapters, I wish I had broken up the first section more, because the pacing feels awkward to me in some spots.

Another chapter 47 thing: Addison had the following inner dialogue when she texted Amelia (who she still had some communication with) to tell her about Clara being born: "I can still be sorry for how my marriage ended, but I'm allowed to be happy and proud about the life I have now."

Picture references! A photographer named Danielle (who Savvy and Weiss used first, with Phoebe) took newborn photos of Clara, photos for a Montgomery-Sloan Christmas holiday card (chapter 48), and photos at Mark and Addison's courthouse wedding (chapter 55), at which time Addison and Danielle discussed the possibility of her taking more pictures the following fall, which would be combo family/maternity ones, since Addison was pregnant with Ruby at the time. I'm mostly mentioning the last one so I can share this line: "this wasn't something [Addison] did—or would have even considered—during her pregnancy with Clara. She has a few pictures of herself during the fall and winter months of her first pregnancy, but most of them are her standing beside Mark, the two of them a united, cautious front in protecting their growing family." And there's a reference in both chapters 52 and 53 to imply the photos with a professional photographer are probably a yearly occurrence.

Chapter 42. Addison described Mark's apartment as "chrome-y and gray," and he encouraged her to make changes to it, to make it feel more like both of theirs. It might have been "their" home, but given that this chapter took place in November Of Being A New Couple And Also Pregnant, it certainly still looked more like "his" home at the time.

Chapter 39. Mark met Phoebe, Savvy and Weiss's daughter, for the first time. And in chapter 38, Addison brought Mark into the NICU, and had him hold a newborn, which was his first time holding a baby.

Chapter 16. It was March when Addison first told Mark she was in love with him, too.

. .
. .

This

Even Addison's fingers feel exhausted as she clumsily works them up the buttons of her pajama top. She lifts her head after she has fastened a chest-level one, and then her gaze drifts over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun has melted behind the buildings, paving the way for nightfall. Not that time means anything—least of all to Clara, Addison decides while stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Five days outside the womb, and day is night and night is day as far as her daughter is concerned.

She watches as Mark pulls the curtains closed; she replaced them in December, opting to get rid of his broody-shaded ones in favor of softer linen paneled curtains they generally leave open except for at night when they want to feel less like they are living in a fishbowl thanks to neighboring high-rises. And Addison smiles, impressed as Mark navigates shutting the curtains while cradling Clara against his chest and shoulder. He is starting to seem more sure of himself now—more confident, and also capable of traveling the length of the room with Clara quicker.

And God, seeing him with Clara, who looks so impossibly tiny in his embrace…it is completely different than it was being present for him meeting Phoebe, or rocking that newborn in the NICU last year. Those instances—and Mark's ongoing interactions with Phoebe—were and are precious, but this generates something much, much deeper and profound-feeling. It is a swell of love Addison has never experienced before, because this is their baby.

The world has mostly been reduced to their bedroom since coming home from the hospital. Which is okay. And though Addison has moved around here and there, her world—as is the case at this moment—has mostly been reduced to their bed. Which is also okay. She would advise any new mother this is exactly what they need after birthing a child.

She throws Mark a grin as he crosses the room again, and deposits Clara—sleeping contently after another feeding—or sleeping contently for now, at least—into her bassinet. He returns Addison's smile and takes a seat on the side of the bed, still facing their daughter; it is hard to stop staring at Clara, to glance away from her sweet, doll-like features. The slope of her chin, the deep blue of her eyes, her wispy hair, the softness of her cheeks, the way her fingers clutch onto one of theirs like petals not quite ready to open—everything about her is a marvel.

"You know what's cool about this kid?" Mark says, still focused on Clara.

"Everything?"

"Definitely. But I was gonna say it's cool she was born this month, because March Madness starts in two weeks. I usually don't get to catch many games because of work, but now that I'm on paternity leave, I might actually stand a chance of seeing some of the afternoon ones."

"Well, that was why we decided to be careless last June, wasn't it?" Addison can feel her throat tightening as she pushes the words out, emotion arriving without warning. "To accommodate the NCAA basketball tournament?"

"Exactly," Mark jokes. "Hey…" he turns his head when she exhales unsteadily.

"It's o-okay." Her voice cracks when she attempts to speak. "I'm…I'm okay." She offers Mark a thin smile as tears—ones that honestly shock her as much as they have shocked him—seep down her cheeks. He hoists his legs onto the bed and crawls over, sitting beside her.

"Yeah." He bumps his shoulder against hers. "You seem okay." This makes Addison release a short, choppy laugh.

"I am okay," she insists, though she blushes under his questioning look. "I'm just…just…"

"I know you're really tired. And I know you're still sore." It is a reasonable conclusion for Mark to make. She is tired. And, physically, he knows—as much as he is capable of knowing, since it's not like he is the one going through it—that Addison is still…tender. She is still experiencing sporadic postpartum cramping. She is still bleeding between her legs. Her breasts hurt and her nipples are sensitive as she gets used to breastfeeding and trying to help Clara latch properly—and she hasn't been shy about telling him any of this. "Well," Mark adds, realizing he shouldn't make assumptions, no matter how reasonable he thinks those assumptions are. "I'm making an educated guess that's what's going on here."

Addison nods, sniffling. "You're correct."

"C'mere." He ropes an arm around her, bringing her against him. He catches sight of a wince, and is about to ask Addison if she wants the heating pad, wondering if it is an afterpain, but when she ducks her head beneath his chin, having adjusted herself after their faces briefly connected, Mark realizes that this time he was the source of her discomfort—albeit, unintentionally. "Sorry," he says next, maneuvering a hand along his jawline, where more stubble than usual is pebbling his face. "I need to shave."

"That makes two of us. And we need to do it soon. Danielle is coming Saturday."

"Well, I've gotta shave for that. As for you…are you going to wear cut-off shorts for the pictures, or something?" Mark teases, giving one of her thighs a playful squeeze. He is not sure what Addison is planning to wear for the "newborn photoshoot," but he figures she already knows, and has probably had it planned for a while. She already talked to him about the outfits and ideas she has in mind for Clara. And he also assumes she knows what he is wearing, too—as in, she has already selected his shirt and pants. Mark does not mind though. As long as she is happy, he is happy.

"No, no cut-offs for me."

Addison bought a long, cream-colored dress several weeks ago when she was shopping with Savvy. She had not given anything for herself much thought until Savvy asked her what she was going to wear, and reminded Addison that although Clara would be the main attraction, the new parents would want to be in some pictures, too. Savvy had arched a brow, as if intuiting why her friend was hesitating. And Addison had nodded, and told herself something she later considered when she was texting Amelia after Clara was born, and also a variation of something she has learned throughout her time in therapy with Marie: I can still be sorry for how my marriage ended, but I'm allowed to be happy and proud about the life I have now.

"That's a bummer. I would have loved to have seen you in a pair of cut-offs…"

"Yeah, I know you would have." Addison smirks, not feeling at all desirable these days, but still enjoying Mark's praise. "I just meant I need to shower." She managed to shortly after they got home from the hospital, so that is at least something, and while she did wash her hair, the only remaining energy she could summon post-shower was to rake her locks back into a low, wet ponytail. "And look…presentable."

"You'll have time to look presentable," Mark promises. She could even shower now, if she wanted, but he can tell she is too exhausted to move. "And when Savvy and Weiss stop by tomorrow to meet Clara, they aren't expecting any miracles. They were new parents once, too. But if you're not feeling it and want to reschedule—"

"No, no. I still want them to come over."

"Okay." He dabs away a tear clinging to Addison's cheekbone. "You need anything in the meantime?"

She shakes her head. "Just this."

Just this. And this, really, is an incredibly easy thing to receive. Long, trusting moments pass between them. Addison allows her eyes to slide shut, accepting Mark's comfort, his susurrations that land like lullabies close to her ears. His touch seems every bit as gentle as how he holds Clara, it feels to her, when he eventually resituates her between his parted legs, cuddling her against him, surrounding her with both arms when her body tilts sideways into the broad wall of his chest. More stillness follows. More calmness. Her breathing lengthens, matching his. She can feel herself fading toward a much-needed sleep.

There is movement, one arm edging away. Addison keeps her eyes closed, relying on her other senses to fill in the unknowns; she can feel the strain of Mark's chest muscles as he stretches, and can hear his fingers tapping along the nightstand, evidently in search of something. And, then, a clicking noise follows—a button on a remote—and the light behind her eyes shifts subtly. It is blue and white. She cannot tell without opening her eyes what colors are projecting on the ceiling, but Mark knows those are the ones she likes best on the galaxy nightlight they still have, but admittedly do not use consistently anymore. It is almost like they do not need it as much now, though Addison cannot say why.

March, she wants to tell him, but she is too tired to cast out the words. She will tell Mark later. Theyhave time. I first told you that I was in love with you in March, she plans to share. It's the month I said it back. So that's another cool thing about Clara being born in March.

"Addison…"

She blinks at Mark through water-speared lashes when his fingertips graze her forearm, trying to capture her attention. He must know she is nearing sleep, too. He dips his chin to study her properly, trying to assess if she is doing better, and Addison raises her head more, coming in for a kiss, which essentially answers his question. A quiet, appreciative noise curls in her throat when their lips touch; it feels nice, and they are both grinning when they break apart.

"You wanna lie down?" He asks. "And get some rest?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mark's hand cups her cheek once they have gotten settled under the comforter. "Can I tell you something?" She nods, intrigued by the serious expression clouding his face. "You're such a great mom, Addison. And I knew you would be, but…there's a difference between knowing it in theory and actually seeing you in action. You're an amazing mom though. Clara's so lucky to have you. We're both so lucky to have you."

"Thank you." Addison's lips drag into a wide, pleased smile. "And you're a really good dad."

"I appreciate that, but I wasn't fishing."

"I know. But you are."

Her words are genuine, but as soon as they are out of her mouth, Addison is propped onto an elbow, staring over Mark, trying to take in as much of Clara as she can. Currently, the bassinet is on his side of the bed, since it is easier—or simply less physically taxing—for him to reach over the end of the mattress and scoop Clara up in the middle of the night and hand her to Addison when she needs to be fed, rather than having Addison exert too much energy in these early days of parenthood.

Mark instinctively peeks over his shoulder, caught up in doing the same thing Addison is: watching for the slight rise and fall of their daughter's chest. He gets it; the urge to protect Clara and keep her safe is overpowering.

"She's all right." He twists back around and puts his head on his pillow, hoping Addison will do the same, that his reassurance will soothe her worries. And she does eventually copy him, but Mark can tell from the rigidness in her posture that she is working very, very hard to resist taking another look at their baby. "Do you want to switch places with me?" He asks, trying to be supportive. "Would that help you right now?"

"Yeah." She nods sheepishly. "It would. Thanks."

He loops an arm over Addison's waist after scooting to her other side. She has negotiated her switched-over pillow close to the edge of the mattress, which has afforded her a better view of Clara, and as a result, she seems more relaxed.

"You know what's funny? Asking if you wanted to switch places—like, positions—that used to mean something else—"

"Mark—"

"Not that switching was ever necessary, because that would imply I needed to do something different to make you—"

"Our daughter is right here, you know."

"I'm whispering. And she's asleep. I swear I won't talk like this in front of Clara when she's old enough to know actual words." His tone softens when he adds, "I was just trying to make you smile."

"Well," Addison says, "it worked, inappropriateness aside."

"Hey…you know how much I love you, right?"

"I do."


SAFE, SCENE 3 - REFERENCES

Chapter 38. There is a reference to Jenny, Mark's mom, attending his med school commencement ceremony at Columbia, but being unable to attend a celebratory dinner afterwards, due to being too under the influence, and man, you have NO IDEA how badly I wanted to circle back to this in Atlas, because there was a reason for it, from the beginning, but it just didn't "fit" anywhere, so I had to let it go. Instead, Mark went out to dinner with Derek, Addison, Sam, and Naomi's families, while Everett and Jenny remained at their hotel. As an aside, a group dinner of sorts likely did happen in canon, because Addison mentioned one to Jake on Private Practice. She told Jake that Sam's mom has always hated her, and it didn't help that at "graduation dinner," "Bizzy got drunk and asked [Sam's mom] if 'Amistad' was an accurate portrayal of slavery." Something of note is that movie was released in 1997, which would have been *well* after that bunch graduated from med school. Sigh. At least Grey's and PP are consistent in their commitment to not adhering to timelines. But, I digress…

Chapter 46. Clara and Jenny share a birthday.

Chapter 49. It is noted that Bizzy occasionally refers to Ruby as "Mini Archer."

Chapter 55. Mark teaches Ruby—then almost five—how to float on her back in the pool at their house in Westhampton.

. .
. .

Safe

Addison nearly startles when Mark's hand closes around her shoulder. She has been so caught up in scrutinizing the rain flicking against the glass—still no more than a dreary drizzle—that she had not heard him approaching.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Guilt weighs on her as she responds, because his question is one she was actually planning to ask him as soon as he was done washing up and brushing his teeth. "I just…feel like we're on high alert." A storm is expected within a few hours, which may mean frightened children, in the event harder-falling rain and snarling thunder awaken Clara and Ruby. Or, likely just Clara, their more sensitive child. A full-on storm—even one of this projected magnitude—probably will not alarm Ruby, nor wake her, since she is a deep sleeper, even more so after a busy weekend. The concept of Ruby being a deep sleeper remains something that amuses Addison; her younger daughter, who turned four at the beginning of the month, was decidedly not a deep sleeper throughout infancy (nor a good one), but the eventual change in course does make sense: classic Ruby, always full of surprises, always keeping them on their toes.

"I know," Mark says when Addison wheels around to face him. She can tell he shares in her worry about the night ahead, but she believes his uneasiness exists for another reason, too. "Well, we'll be ready, in case they need us."

"Hey…are you okay? This afternoon, when I came back in with the girls, it seemed like you and your dad—"

"I'm fine."

His reassurance falls flat. She can practically feel the undertow of Mark's grief as they climb into bed—or some emotion like that, but after spending time with Everett, she suspects it is Jenny-related grief. Addison decides not to push harder though. They will talk; they always do. Their love feels beautiful, and honest to her, even though it did not originate in either of those places. But, when Mark is the one tasked with taking the lead on a vulnerable conversation, he generally needs more time to process things for himself first.

The least she can do is rub his back, administer some comfort. He is quicker, however; he gathers her close, her back to his front, before she can extend an arm. Perhaps he needs this more than her touch.

"It was a good weekend," Addison ventures. It takes some energy. His hold on her is so warm, and already her eyelids feel gritty, heavy.

"Yeah."

No matter what is going on in Mark's head, she thinks he is being truthful when he voices his agreement. They used the girls' first weekend of Thanksgiving break to visit Everett in Syracuse, loading up their trunk Saturday morning with the usual suitcases Addison and Mark favor for quick weekends away, and Clara and Ruby's far, far too big pastel ones, because the girls begged to bring them, wanting to show them off to their grandpa (cell phone pictures would not suffice, apparently). Those checked-sized ones were purchased in the spring, ahead of their St. Lucia trip. The four of them visited Los Angeles for a few days after Christmas last year—that was the girls' first plane ride—but St. Lucia in April felt like their first "big" vacation as a family. And there was a moment for Addison, when she retreated to their row of lounge chairs to get a towel, and caught a glimpse of Mark and their daughters, who were down by the water, flecks of sand crystallized on their arms, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was, that this was her life.

But there was a different kind of moment today. The stomach-plummeting kind. Mark and Everett were in the kitchen talking, and she had taken the girls out to the backyard, wanting to give them one last opportunity to stretch their legs before the drive back to the city—Clara and Ruby enjoy the saucer swing Everett hung off the branch of a beech tree for them last summer, and a kid-friendly croquet set he bought around the same time. When they came back inside though, the girls pink-cheeked and animated as Addison ushered them to the sink so they could wash their hands, she could tell by her husband's body language something had happened between him and Everett. But, then the moment was over. Mark went back to being an attentive father and spouse, displaying interest as Clara told him about the cardinal she saw hopping along the fence, and picking out a twig that had somehow ended up in Ruby's hair, and helping Addison round up their belongings. And then everything from when they left Syracuse to when they tucked the girls into bed felt like a typical day for the Montgomery-Sloans. But, still. There was a moment. And it was not lost on Addison.

"They loved the stuffed cheetahs and the nail sticker thing he got them," Mark suddenly contributes, perhaps—Addison thinks—recognizing his prior acknowledgement was lacking in effort. He finds the jut of her elbow, and massages the tendons below it. It feels nice, but it is definitely not helping her ward off sleep. "Although he needs to stop having a present for them each time we go there, or he comes here. Rubes practically walked through the door with her hands held out yesterday. He doesn't need to always have something for them."

"He's a good…" Addison stumbles, a yawn ripping her thought in half. "A good grandpa."

"He is."

Exhaustion creeps further in. Mark's breath is landing sleepy-like in a swath of her hair. The long drive always takes something out of them. Addison lets her mind amble back to St. Lucia. The warm days and balmy nights. The two-bedroom villa they stayed in, with its generous view of the Caribbean Sea. The rain shower she said she wanted to live in, which thoroughly confused Ruby, who did not understand this was a joke. The early mornings she and Mark would sip richly-flavored coffee on the terrace. The fruit trees that lined their walks to the beach. The painted animal figurines the girls picked out as souvenirs. The delicious meals they ate, sometimes in their room, or sometimes at one of the resort's restaurants. How both girls, after years of insisting they didn't like mangoes, naturally were willing to try them in St. Lucia, and it turns out, they do like them. The on-site water park. The four poster bed with its gauzy canopy curtains—Addison can remember the specific swoop of the curtain directly above them during the rare occasions on the trip she and Mark found the energy to be intimate, because the truth is, a vacation does not always feel like a vacation when you have children. She can recall that one night though, their second or third on the island, when she was more uninhibited courtesy of indulging in a few "when in St. Lucia" rum-based drinks after the girls were asleep. Promise me we'll come back here, she whispered, hips arched, as Mark was moving inside her. Deal, but promise me you won't wake them. The pad of his finger was soft as he trailed it over her passion-parted lips, and when she informed him they had locked the door to their bedroom, Mark chuckled. They still have ears, Addison. The lock isn't what I'm worried about right now. She countered that the girls were sleeping, and he had to remind her—with all the patience of someone who went considerably easier on the rum—that just because you're asleep, that doesn't mean you lose the ability to hear.

Hours have passed. St. Lucia is gone, nothing but a blissful memory, but ideally one they will have the chance to recreate one day. That much Addison is aware of when she feels the bumpy, panicked pressure of the mattress drooping beside her. This causes her to rouse first, but once she floats back to consciousness, she hears the echoing boom of thunder. There is no mistaking the storm now; the near-silent rain has been replaced by something else entirely. And then there is Clara in front of her, shadow-like, but still recognizable in the darkness, scurrying onto the bed, crying.

"Hi…hi, sweetheart." Addison pushes herself into a sitting position, and feels a rush of gratefulness as Mark turns his bedside lamp on, brightening their bedroom. They are both light sleepers anyway—a combination of being parents and being surgeons—but Mark has always been the lighter one, a little faster to emerge from a state of grogginess than she is. "Is the storm…? Okay. It's okay." She guides Clara into her lap. "I've got you. It's okay, Clarabelle. I'm so glad you came in here."

Addison understands such a statement probably makes no sense to her five-year-old. Why wouldn't Clara come in here? She knows she is always, always welcome in her parents' room, and so is Ruby. But…Addison and Mark did not have that option as children. Mark, because his parents might not be present (though Addison would like to think on a night like this, they would have stayed home), and her, because Bizzy and the Captain would have sent her back to her room—only babies need their parents at night, dear.

Clara's fist seals around Addison's pajama top, gripping the material between her fingers. It reminds Addison so much of her daughter as a baby, when she used to rock her to sleep. Mark circles his arms around them both, and even though Addison is not scared, something about the action makes her feel more secure, too. And then the three of them remain that way, shielding Clara between them until her fearful sobs transition into tired, puffy-sounding noises.

"There we go, kiddo," Addison murmurs. She plants a kiss on Clara's tear-dampened cheek and then lifts her off her legs. "All right. Let's lie down and get you nice and cozy." A fair amount of shuffling ensues as she helps resettle Clara in the middle of the bed. She fits her body to Clara's, wondering if her daughter will wriggle back around, seeking more maternal closeness, but Clara does not seem to mind facing Mark rather than Addison as the three of them lie in a row. Clara does, however, whimper as another round of thunder and lightning cleaves through the sky. "Oh, Clara." Addison bites her lip as Clara starts to cry again. "It's okay. We—"

"Hey," Mark interjects. "Gimme your hand." He folds one of Clara's hands inside his, and then rests his other hand on her cheek, inciting her to look at him. "It's okay. Your mom and I are both right here. We've got you. I know it's scary, with how loud it is, and with all the flashing, but we're safe in here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, Clara. I'm not gonna let anything hurt you."

Addison witnesses him take control. The hand Mark has connected to Clara's stays still, but the other one plays out all the gestures Addison is familiar with, because physical comfort has always been one of the ways her husband demonstrates love. He strokes Clara's cheek with his knuckles. He brushes her strawberry blonde hair away from her face. He rubs her shoulder. He thumbs at the last vestiges of tears sticking to her face. Addison knows her warm weight cushioning Clara, and the overall presence of Mommy is soothing, but at this point, it feels like it is all Mark who is helping their daughter calm down, and Clara in turn has focused her attention solely on him. Addison is not surprised when Clara eventually tumbles to sleep, her limbs trusting and loose—a storm is no match for Mark.

Beneath the comforter, she can feel the familiar twitch of Clara's feet, the way one ankle crosses over the other, nearly in fourth position, a ballerina even in slumber. Clara makes a sweet sighing noise, and sleeps on. Addison is certain—call it mother's intuition—that Clara is going to stay asleep now.

"Mark, I want to talk to you." She waits until he looks at her. "Come with me," she whispers, and she can see from the way that he narrows his eyes, Mark is stunned she would suggest this right now. He sucks in a breath before he answers though, followed by arranging his expression into a less critical one.

"I…I don't want to leave her." Mark transfers his gaze back to Clara. She untangled her hand from his a few minutes ago—she likes to scoop one hand under her pillow and curl the other close to her face while she sleeps—but their formerly joined hands are still near enough to touch. "If she—"

"The chaise." Addison gets out of bed, and heads to the corner of the room where the white chaise lounge is, banking on the fact that her husband will trail after her. "We'll be able to see Clara if she starts to wake up," she adds, keeping her tone soft and assuaging. "We'll go right back to her if she wakes up."

She turns on the floor lamp behind the chaise, and then lowers herself, pressing her back into the cushion, and tucking her legs close to her body just as Mark arrives. Her choice, which was a deliberate one, is not lost on him. In order to face Addison, fully face her, he will need to mirror her position, which will mean being turned away from Clara. After taking one last peek at a still-sleeping Clara, he sits down, with some reluctance.

"I can still see her," Addison says, wanting to make that clear. Next, she gives Mark a lengthy, searching assessment. His shoulders are hunched forward, signaling somberness. "So…what's going on?"

The note of hurt in his voice is unmistakable when he says, "Clara was so upset."

"She was." It is not what was originally going on, but Addison recognizes this has compounded whatever Mark has been struggling with. "But did you feel how Clara's entire body started to relax when you put your arms around us both? And how when we were lying down, how much it meant to her to hold your hand? She was scared, but then she wasn't. Clara always feels so safe with you, Mark. You make her feel safe." Addison watches him smile a little. And then his face resets.

"If…if Jenny ever got scared during a thunderstorm, no one was going to help her feel safe. The one person who was supposed to make her feel safe was the one who scared her, who terrorized her."

Addison holds out her hand, and he reaches for it, gives it a squeeze. He is right, of course. And he knows that she knows he is right. There really isn't anything she can say about Mark's observation—all she can do is be present for it. The years have taught her this is what Mark needs from her the most when talking about Jenny's painful childhood.

"You seemed upset before that, too." She waits for several moments before she speaks again. "Did something happen today with your dad?" Addison does not divulge, You had to catch yourself when you were talking to Clara. You said, "I'm not gonna let anything hurt you," but you almost said "anyone." I heard you. You caught yourself at the last second.

Mark's response is no more than a sheepish mumble when he admits, "I was going to tell you about it tomorrow."

"I figured. But now…now I'm kind of worried about you. Can you tell me now? Please?"

"Yeah. Okay. Everett told me something that happened before our commencement ceremony." He studies Addison, who gives him an encouraging nod. From med school, she knows he means. "You know, I should have my dad just start writing all this crap down and email it to me, so that I don't keep getting side-swiped with information." Mark breathes in noisily through his nostrils, and then tries to exhale more slowly. His gaze drops to his knees. "But I…I know he really likes talking about Jenny." The words are gentler now, more gracious. "And I know he just…I know my dad doesn't seem to have the capacity to say everything all at once."

"What did he tell you?" Addison prompts.

"Do you remember that my parents didn't come to the dinner we all went to afterwards?"

"I do." She can recall Mark shrugging it off that his parents were not there, and although Addison thought it was odd, Mark didn't seem upset by Everett and Jenny's absence from the graduation dinner, so she had carried on having what could only be described as a "complicated" time. It was joyous, to be sure, because she was hopelessly in love with Derek, and she and her friends were celebrating the culmination of four years of hard work, but it was also stressful, and at times uncomfortable, because any gathering that also included her parents always made Addison feel tense. And, though there is nothing she can do about it now, because that life isn't this life, it does bring her some shame—given how much she loves Mark—to consider that his feelings were probably the last thing she was thinking about that night.

"I guess before the ceremony started, when my parents were walking into the building, Jenny saw a guy who looked like Neal—her dad. And it really messed her up. It wasn't him, but…" Mark shakes his head. Jenny had not seen Neal since she was eighteen, but it did not matter how many years it had been. The slightest hint of danger would have sent her reeling and left her feeling out of control. "She had some Valium or…something in her purse she was able to take when she and my dad got to their seats, and that was enough to get her through our graduation, but barely. She was a wreck the whole time—like she couldn't stop looking around and stuff, and she almost missed my name being called, apparently—and she went straight to the car afterwards. My dad came and found me, and he told me my mom wasn't feeling well, so he was going to take her back to the hotel—that part I remember, and I went and I stopped by the Plaza that night after dinner and before I met up with you guys at that bar we sometimes went to, to say 'hi,' and by that point she was out of it. I just figured…I just figured it was Jenny being Jenny." Mark takes a shaky breath. "I didn't realize there was…you know. More to it."

"I'm sorry, Mark. I'm really sorry."

"She's missing all of this. Clara. Ruby. You." He looks up again. "She would have loved you three." The tears in his eyes are threatening to breach as he continues to regard Addison. "She just…she would have loved you so much."

"I would have loved her, too. I do love her." Addison spots a single tear of his fall. She wonders if it hurts too much for Mark to hear this, but she wants to be honest. "I love her because I love you."

Revealing this shatters his last wall of defense. More tears come down.

"Mark…"

She draws him forward into her arms. They both straighten out, legs extending as he rests against her chest, sheltered in her embrace. Addison is not sure if he realizes his right hand is gripping onto her shirt, just like Clara was doing earlier. His fingers are in the edges of her hair though, slipping through the strands like water. That was always more of a Ruby thing—she liked to play with Addison's hair as a baby. Mark really is the best of both of them. Or they are the best of him.

"You have to let me take care of you once in a while," Addison says. She does not need to raise her voice to be heard; Mark's crying winds up being the quiet sort. It is more like labored breathing than anything else. Still, she cradles one hand to the base of his neck and runs the other along his back. "Okay?"

Mark manages a small, weak nod beneath her chin. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the way Addison's fingertips are gliding soothingly over his muscles. He thinks about his mom some more, about everything she is not here to be a part of. Pills and alcohol helped Jenny to disconnect as much as possible, to calm her anxiety, to attempt to obscure her darkest secrets, not just from others, but from herself. The thing is though, sobriety means being fully present, and Jenny would not have wanted to miss a single second with her granddaughters. If things were different, if Jenny were here, Mark would have never felt comfortable leaving his mom with the girls unsupervised, even though there were some stretches of time when Jenny had been able to remain sober, but for all the things he did not know and now will never know, the one thing he cannot question is how much his mom would have loved being a grandma.

"Jenny would have gotten such a kick out of Ruby." He is hoarse-sounding when he speaks again. "She would have called her 'Mini Mark,' just like how your mom calls her 'Mini Archer' sometimes. And she'd have that kid floating on her back by now, too." Ruby can dog-paddle with the best of them, and flip from her belly to her back, and reverse again with ease, but she refuses to remain on her back—few things in life seem to frighten Ruby, but this is one that does, and they are trying not to pressure her, trying to let her learn things at her own pace. "I'm sure of it."

"I'm sure you're right."

"And Clara…" he tenses at the mention of her.

"She's still asleep," Addison says, understanding. "I promise I'm watching her."

"My mom loved to read. I can just picture her sitting on the couch with Clara." His throat constricts again, too much to continue the thought. Clara can cobble her way through some of the shorter words in books, and sight words are a breeze for her, but mostly, she loves when her parents read to her. Mark suspects Addison is imagining the same thing he is: Clara and Jenny side-by-side, and Clara looking up at Jenny just before the turn of a page, because whenever there is a moment in a story that Clara thinks is funny, she will look up at you, to see if you think it is funny, too.

"And they would have celebrated their birthdays together," Addison contributes. "We would have had a cake for each of them."

"Yeah," Mark agrees, finding his voice again. "She would have liked that, to have had her first grandbaby be born on her birthday. I'm not…I'm not crushing you, right?" It has just occurred to him that while he is not on top of Addison, he is not not on top of her either.

"You're not. You're fine where you are." She pauses, and then changes the subject. "But you'll make sure that you talk to—"

He knows where she is going. "I'll talk to Olivia, yeah."

"And you'll keep talking to me too, right?"

"I will."

They stay like that for a long time, resting in the rhythm of the aftermath, two quiet heartbeats listening to the storm continuing to rage outside. There is no hurry to go back to bed. Patience has always felt like the sincerest form of love to Addison. Eventually, her husband sits up, and she does as well. He gives her a tired smile and wraps his arms around her waist.

"I was thinking about St. Lucia before we fell asleep."

"Why?" Mark asks, words muffled into her neck.

"I'm not sure. Probably just longing for the warm weather." She leans back. "I miss it. We really should go there again next spring."

"We will. Or we could go, and ditch the hooligans for the week. Some of those resorts are adults only, you know." Mark smirks, but Addison knows he is just talking a big game. They are fine with—and enjoy—the occasional weekend without the girls in Westhampton, but leaving them for longer than that is tough to envision. "And all the rum we could want, of course."

"God, my stomach just churned at the thought." Addison puts a hand on his cheek. "I know you're not actually okay right now, but are you a little more okay than you were earlier?"

Mark turns his face to kiss her palm. "I am. And just in time, too. I think I hear Ruby."

They both wander to the bedroom door, not wanting to startle Ruby, in case Mark is right, and sure enough, he is: Ruby crosses the threshold when they are within a few feet of the door. She has an arm hanging onto two stuffed cheetahs, and the knuckles of her other hand are rubbing sleepily at one of her eyes. She and Clara are in matching pajamas tonight, a printed purple thermal set Clara selected independently, but Ruby, a little sister through and through, went and put on hers after noting what Clara was wearing.

"Is Clara in here?" The question—and the evidence of two cheetahs, not one—confirms that Ruby must have gone to look for her sister before coming in here. The gesture warms Addison's heart. The girls squabble, just like any siblings, but they are so connected, the two of them.

"She is. She's in our bed," Addison answers. "Do you want to sleep with us, too?" Thankfully, Ruby appears fine, unaffected; it just seems like the bad weather finally woke her. "Oh, goodness," Addison deadpans when Ruby holds her arms out. "Have your legs stopped working?" She scoops Ruby up mid-giggle though, because eventually there will come a day when her littlest girl will be too big to hold like this.

On his way back to his side of the bed, Mark can hear Ruby saying something to Addison about the lightning looking like forks—the specific way she saw it whipping across the sky must resemble the gleaming prongs of a utensil, he guesses—at the same time Clara jerks back awake, more from the movement of the mattress thanks to extra bodies than the clatter of the storm.

"It's okay." His hand surrounds her tiny shoulder. "I'm right here. Ruby's here, too."

"The lightning looks like forks," Ruby repeats excitedly.

Clara gives her sister a sleepy half-grin, but it is not clear if she really took this comment in. Her blinks are slow as Addison fishes another pillow out of the storage bench for the girls to share, but Clara inches closer to Mark, more interested in him than the cheetah her sister passed off to her. Mark ends up bringing her onto his pillow.

"I'm right here, Clara," he repeats. Her hand closes around his shirt in response, but her grasp is softer this time. "I'm right here." Just over her head are Ruby and Addison, also snuggled in for the night now, the four of them an unbroken thread. He decides he will leave his bedside light on for a bit longer, so he can hang onto this image.

Addison gives Mark a warm smile, doing her best to retain the smile when Ruby accidentally kicks her in the shin. She does not think he will sleep particularly well the rest of the night, and not just because no parent usually does sleep well when their children join them in bed. But, he seems a little more at peace now.