—1—
The very first time Addison's vision dims to grey, she almost misses it. She's used to focusing on work despite the turmoil in her head, as at this point in her life, there's little to anything else but turmoil rocking around in her head.
She remembers the exact second of the day that color fades out from her vision, although fade isn't particularly the right word for it, if she's truthful. It didn't fade easily, as though it were bleeding out, but went out instantly; like a flicker. Addison blinked, and where there were shades of blue for her scrubs, and pink for her gloves, there was suddenly nothing of the sort. Just a simple, dulled- out gray, as though she had been whitewashed.
She did her best not to show any sort of emotion, although Miranda was too far gone into her delivery to notice the change. She wished she could ask her, in that moment, if she too saw only gray; after all, her husband was with Derek, and Addison was still one to believe that despite their problems, despite everything they were going through, he was still the other half of her soul.
Even when she lays eyes on him, wraps her arms around him, albeit hours later, Addison's vision is still a dull, washed- down gray despite how very fine and completely okay he genuinely seems to be. She doesn't entirely know when the denial sets in, when she forces herself to think of the words soulmate and Derek in the same thought, the same way she doesn't really acknowledge when it stops happening; when those two entities that were once the same, suddenly and inexplicably became different. All Addison can be completely certain of, is that her vision fade to black, white and gray for the very first time, and Derek seemed to be completely and entirely okay.
She doesn't find out until much, much later, that Meredith was the only one whom wasn't.
—2—
Addison is one- hundred percent, absolutely certain the moment she sees Meredith laid out on the table. With the sickly pallor of her skin, and what she assumes is the blue of her lips, she knows, right down to the very base of her core.
She can't see the blue that she inherently knows is there, as her vision is cast only within the dimmest shades of black.
Meredith Grey is her soulmate.
She swallows the sudden urge to throw up as though it is bile in the very back of her throat, offering her own words of advice, throwing her very own hands into action.
She sits in the hallway sometime later, color restored. She doesn't tell Mark, as they watch Derek care for Meredith in her place, doesn't have to.
Its written all over her face.
—3—
The third time, is when Addison finally spends six hours, seventeen minutes, and every countable second staring at her phone before her feet carry her to the elevator at Oceanside. She can no longer make excuses for the pain in her chest that grows each and every time her vision flickers into those colorless shades of white and grey, never dulling, not yet threatening to fade completely away.
She's still staring completely enraptured at the dark front screen of her phone as she pulls the emergency stop on the elevator wall and recedes into the furthest corner away, her back to the wall as she slides down in dismay.
"Are you there, God?" She whispers into the large square of empty space, tucking her knees tight to her chest, phone balanced precariously upon the tops of her knees.
Tilly answers her.
Tilly always answers her.
At some point in the blurred fog of time, Tilly joins her and holds her with arms like a mom's long after she's forgone the ability to speak, foregone the many ways to spin a tale as old as the time; for she, Addison Montgomery has now suffered thrice as Meredith Grey nearly dies.
She shows Tilly the video Meredith sends her of the first time Bailey gets to nurse, running up two flights of stairs in her heels on the same day that her phone finally chimes that she's fine.
—4—
Addison doesn't know what prompts it the fourth time. The blackout of her vision comes much like a blow to the back of her head; damn near knocking her clear off her feet. The change from color to darkness and light is so harsh she drops the chart in her hands to the floor, grabbing the sides of her head as though she can no longer hear.
And everything, suddenly, excruciatingly, hurts.
Addison nearly falls into the counter at her side, and she hears the cry to catch her only moments before her knees buckle down to meet the cold of the floor.
And yet it's over as suddenly as it began, and color floods back like a breath of fresh air. She doesn't find out about the patient beating Meredith within an inch of her life until she calls three weeks later, to the day.
But there, hidden beneath the relief that she's now okay, is the sinking feeling of dread; for she knows she won't last is this to happen again and again.
—5—
Though she tried to love many a man, she too knows the truth, that no relationship here could possibly be. And yet, as much as she wants, Addison cannot simply leave, abandon everything that she's managed to finally build. So instead, she dances to a beat that she herself hums, Henry asleep against the rise of her chest, until the grey film in her eyes finally fades.
Callie calls her that night to update her on Seattle, and she can't help but ask. She listens as her very best friend spins her a tale, telling her of the virus that held Meredith so strongly at bay. As she listens, she reflexively cradles her son back to her chest, ending the night curled beneath her duvet with a secret she's kept well at bay.
She waits three more days before she reaches for the phone, but even then, she's not sated until she hears the voice of Meredith Grey, and the smile, like color, once more finally returns to her eyes.
—1—
She sees Addison rise, like a Goddess, as though it's the first she is truly looking at her, truly seeing her for who she is.
With her shoulder popped back in, rising back up to stand at Carina's side, as though she didn't just nearly die. Meredith swallows the bile in the back of her throat, and turns her attention away, until it's Addison's turn to walk down the hall. She follows suit, stepping into the elevator bay, thoughts tangled with words, too jumbled up to stick well to her tongue. The elevator lingers in a halt, and she finally turns. Meredith had been confused only at first, when her vision never faded as Derek had died. Confused that someone else had been out there, a match made for her, all this time.
"How long have you known?" She feels tears prick at the backs of her eyes, even as she swallows the fear alongside the pride, and combats the feelings away.
"A long time. Do you have any idea how many times you've nearly died?" It gives Meredith pause, standing as though they're eons apart, across some infinitely great divide. And yet Addison is staring at her, and she's staring straight back.
"Three?" She questions, and then shakes her head, just a hair. "Four." A little more confident, she repeats. "Definitely four."
"Five." Addison sighs, but her smile breaks a little bit free, as though it has all been some cosmic joke, finally played out to no less than its fullest capacity.
"No way." Meredith camps her fists on her hips, squinting her eyes. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Meredith, honey, I think out of everyone, I would know." Meredith takes two steps closer, for that's all the distance that was there at the start. Her feet close the gap, fingers hesitating at the topmost line of black scrubs, as though all of this is simply surreal. And then she presses her palm above the beat of her heart; a heart she feels in her ears, pulsing silently only for her the entirety of the time.
"Why didn't you say anything?" She finally asks, her voice low. Addison's breath shudders beneath the touch of her thumb, chest rising up as she pulls air to her lungs.
"Were you happy?" The question gives Meredith pause, a long moment of ticks before she somberly nods, her mouth set and grim.
"I was." The admission makes Addison smile once again, even though it's still just a bit sad.
"Then it was worth it." And a small part of Meredith simply agrees. She has truly lived and truly learned, able to grow into who it is that she is.
"What about now?" Meredith asks, secretly scared, knowing her heart beats the very same way. Addison smiles a little bit sadly at that, her thumbs tracing Meredith's cheeks, and they take one more step back into the wall.
Well the elevator finally dings, they're still like that; Addison pressed to the wall, hands fisted as tightly into scrubs as they are in blonde hair; mouth crushed into mouth as though long starving for air.