Ice clinked in the shaker as Addison snapped it shut, giving it a crisp, confident shake—just like bartenders do. She'd been making the Captain's drinks since she was eight.
Martinis were for the women. She always shook those, made it a performance. Vodka tonic—no ice—that was the Captain's drink of choice.
She poured the chilled martinis, letting the shaker hiss as she cracked it open. The Captain lounged on a bench along the stern, one arm draped over the rail, a flicker of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.
The woman beside him was laughing at something Addison had just said—it hadn't been her best work, just something lighthearted, offhand. But the woman had laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd heard all day.
Addison liked that. She liked making people laugh. She liked being charming.
"Careful, Kitten." The Captain quipped as Addison poured the drinks. "Try not to drown us."
"No promises." Addison didn't miss a beat, sliding his glass over.
The Captain took a sip and gave an exaggerated wince. "Heavy-handed, aren't you? What are you trying to do, Addie? Pickle my liver?"
Addison rolled her eyes but smiled, brushing off the tease like always.
It wasn't real criticism—his voice had that amused lilt, the kind that meant he was watching, that he cared enough to pay attention.
"Your liver?" Addison gave him a pointed look, dropping an olive into the glass with a practised flick. "That ship sailed years ago."
The woman laughed, delighted.
"Smooth," the Captain murmured, clearly pleased despite himself. "Maybe I should put you to work at a real bar."
"A Montgomery, working at a bar?" Addison grinned but kept her tone breezy. "They'd revoke my inheritance."
The woman laughed again, seabreeze blowing at her hair as she turned to the Captain.
"It's almost a shame she's stuck at the helm. She's got such a presence."
"She does." The Captain grinned, taking another sip. It was more about himself than his daughter, like showing off a trophy, but still Addison still quietly preened, eyes on the glass with a quick smile.
She liked when people thought she was something special. Bizzy always wanted her quiet, proper, unseen. But the Captain liked her to have a bit of fire. He liked when she was quick, sharp, fun. When she could play along, be one of the boys.
The Captain slid a tumbler toward her, amber liquid sloshing inside. "Here, try a sip."
Addison hesitated only a second before picking it up. She took a burning sip of whiskey and coughed. The Captain laughed, clapping her on the back.
Addison smiled, throat still stinging, but enjoying the warmth of it—the drink, the moment. He never let Bizzy catch her drinking, of course, but Addison knew the Captain liked that she could take it. That she wasn't fragile. Addison liked that too.
For a little while, Addison was part of the show. The woman laughed at her, at the way she rolled her eyes at the Captain's teasing.
Then, after a while, the woman poured herself another martini, eyes shifting away. The Captain's hand skimmed the woman's thigh, and Addison knew.
It was time for her to go.
She didn't need to be told—she never did. She slid off the bench, shaking out her hands, and drifted toward the helm. She had learned her place long ago.
Addison was fun in small doses, a little parlour trick that made the Captain look good. She helped him warm them up, but at a certain point, she had to get out of the way.
She was not the main event.
Addison settled into the captain's chair, hands on the tiller. The boat rocked gently, the wind teasing at the sails.
Behind her, the conversation softened, becoming more private. The woman's laughter curled through the air, her words floating just out of reach, but not entirely. Addison looked out at the water, pretending not to hear.
Then, from behind,
"She's yours, right?"
Addison hesitated, the words taking her by surprise.
The woman's voice was light, teasing, but there was a hint of something else in it—curiosity, perhaps, or just the quiet judgment of a stranger who hadn't yet learned how to keep things to herself.
The Captain laughed, his answer careless. "Of course she's mine."
But the woman wasn't done. "She doesn't look like Bizzy's, though. I mean, she's so… different." There was a pause, then a small laugh. "So tall and skinny—what do they call it? String bean, right? And that red hair. None of you have that."
Addison held onto the tiller. She tried to push the feelings down, to let the words wash over her like they always did, but there was something in the way the woman said it. Something almost… too casual. Too knowing.
The Captain made a dismissive noise. "She takes after my side. My grandfather had red hair."
The woman hummed, not convinced, her voice lowering in mock thoughtfulness. "Really? Because I remember you had a red-haired lover in med school. Fiery, if I remember correctly." She laughed softly, like she was telling an old joke. "Guess Addison takes after her, huh?"
Addison blinked, and despite herself, her breathing hitched. She knew it was a joke, but it wasn't funny.
The Captain laughed, pulling the woman in for a playful kiss.
"Right. I think you've had enough gin there, Nancy Drew." He teased, taking her drink away. "This tone is unbecoming... Honestly, you think Bizzy would take in a stray? Raise it as her own?" He chuckled at the absurdity of it all. "The woman isnt exactly Mother Teresa."
Addison's stomach turned. The words hit harder than she expected. The Captain, talking about Bizzy. Talking about her mother. While he was here, on the boat, kissing another woman. Addison squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the uncomfortable twist in her gut. She couldn't let it get to her. She wouldn't.
"Hm," the woman mused. "Well, I suppose she must be yours, then." Then another laugh. "Just seems a little out of place, is all."
Addison swallowed, her throat dry.
Out of place.
it wasn't meant to sting, but the phrase hit Addison's insecurities.
Was that why Bizzy didn't love her? Because she didn't look like she belonged? Because she wasn't the golden-haired, graceful daughter she should have been?
Addison glanced back at the woman, saw her shaking out the cocktail shaker, mixing her own drink. That was when she knew.
Addison was done being useful.
The warmth from earlier faded, leaving behind something colder.
She was here to drive the boat now. Nothing else.
Addison exhaled, shifting forward in the chair and turning her gaze back to the horizon.
And she stayed quiet.
Addison had always kept the Captain's secrets.
At first, they'd been small—things that didn't seem to matter. A quiet "don't tell Bizzy we stopped for ice cream." A casual "let's not mention that phone call."
But then came the women. With their bright smiles, leaning in too close, touching his arm, laughing at everything he said.
And always, the Captain's voice to Addison, gentle but firm:
"Bizzy doesn't need to know, alright, Kitten?"
The first time Addison saw the Captain with another woman, she was too young to know anything was wrong. She just felt proud to be the Captain's confidant in something. The fact that he trusted Addison meant that he needed her. Wanted her. The fact that they had secrets meant that Addison was important.
As she got older, though, Addison became more confused - but weren't they doing the wrong thing? Was the Captain bad? Was she bad by association? Addison decided not to think about it too much. Thinking about it just made something sharp and unfamiliar twist inside of her.
Now, Addison was old enough to understand - she wasn't the Captain's confidant - she was the Captain's alibi. As long as Addison was here with the Captain, no one asked questions about where he'd been, or what he was doing.
A playful shriek, then more laughter from behind.
Addison glanced back.
The woman was close to the Captain, drink in hand, laughing as he hoisted her up into his lap.
Addison sat quiet at the helm, watching the woman's golden hair catch the sun, her soft voice, laughter floating across the deck like the wind. Addison was tired of this particular woman, but couldnt stop her curiosity getting the better of her as she watched the way they interacted.
Bizzy certainly never laughed at the Captain's jokes like that, nor touched him in thay way. Was that why he did this to her? Did love need to be earned?
She sighed and turned back to the horizon, unable to figure it out.
Addison and the Captain used to come out on this boat all the time, just the two of them, and he'd teach her to sail.
Despite now having to share the Captain's boat with strangers, Addison still did enjoy their trips. The sea, the wind, the way it felt to be part of something. Of course she wished the time could be just for her, but Addison learned that being near the Captain was always better than not being with him at all.
She felt the wind shift—a subtle change, but enough. She reached for the jib sheet, easing it just a little, then tightening it until the sail filled. The movement was instinctive, muscle memory from hours spent on the water.
Addison glanced back at the Captain. He usually would've noticed that. He always said a good sailor could feel the wind change before they saw it. Addison had.
But the Captain wasn't watching anymore. The woman was pouring another martini, tilting Addison's shaker carefully to keep the splash quiet. The woman murmured something in the Captain's ear, and he laughed—low and easy, like they shared a secret.
Addison hesitated, fingers still curled around the rope as she watched them. Something in her chest twisted—not anger, not quite. Something heavier. A sinking feeling.
The boat heeled slightly as the wind shifted again. Addison should have adjusted the sail, should have braced herself, but she was still thinking about the Captain, still looking at him—
Addison didn't see the sail change sides. She didn't see it sweep across the deck, the sudden boom mast from behind.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through her body, white-hot and breathtaking. Addison didn't even have time to cry out as the force of the wooden pole smacked into her, hurtling her sideways.
Into the railing.
Addison's ribs struck metal hard, a sickening crack reverberating through her chest as she came to a sudden stop, head whipping forward. The air wrenched from her lungs. For a second, Addison just hung there, stunned, teetering over the edge.
Addison groaned, eyes closed as her body absorbed the damage. It hurt to breathe.
She bit her lip to stop herself from crying, a habit she'd learned from a young age - Bizzy had always taught them - tears are weak and unbecoming.
Addison's voice slurred and barely made it out.
"Cap… t'n."
She felt blood dribble slowly down her chin, tasting it in her mouth and down the back of her throat. She took a shaky breath, a dull sense of realisation dawning upon her that she was hurt - She was really, really hurt.
She tried to push herself up, but her limbs weren't working right. Her foot was tangled up in coiled rope of the mainsheet line. Her head swam, pain radiating up and down her body in sharp pulses as her body hung limp over the rail.
Addison shuddered, feeling a mix of fear and embarassment. She needed help.
"Captain..." Addison tried again, weak but louder this time, desperation reaching her throat. "Help." She turned her head slowly toward him, searching for his face—
But he wasn't looking at her.
The Captain's head was tilted toward the woman embraced with him, fingers entwined in her hair as they kissed.
Tears burned at Addison's eyes, and she blinked them back, fighting the feeling. The wind was picking up, and she knew she needed to move. Her fingers scrambled against the metal railing, trying to find purchase, trying to pull herself upright—
The wind shifted, sails creaking. Addison tugged her foot against the rope but it was stuck. Her arms collapsed and she dropped back into the railing with a sharp gasp, the pain making her see black stars.
She felt the boat turn and lifted her head once more, recognising the urgency as the boom began to shift.
"Captain!" Addison's breathing was shallow and strained as she forced out words. "Help!"
"Not now, Kitten." His voice was absent, distracted, swallowed by the woman in his arms, against his mouth.
Addison froze.
Pain screamed through her ribs, but a deeper ache spread in her chest. She was alone in this.
The wind shifted. The boom groaned.
Addison tried to move, to pull herself up, to jump out of the way—but the rope cinched tight.
Her breath hitched.
WHAM.
The world flipped.
Sky. Air. Then—
Water.
For a moment, darkness. Then, soundless, weightless panic.
Her head broke the surface. Addison gasped, choking on seawater.
The boat hadn't stopped. A sharp tug yanked at her ankle, dragging her back under.
Shock clamped Addison's chest. The cold was a brutal, physical thing, burning the air from her lungs. She kicked, thrashed upward, burst through again with a spluttering gasp.
The boat was still moving. So was she.
Addison screamed. Coughed. Something was pulling her tight.
The mainsheet. Still tangled around her foot, cinched fast. Every forward pull of the boat wrenched her ankle and yanked her under again. Pain shot up her leg, through her broken body. She kicked, twisted, clawed at the rope. Nothing gave.
She surfaced with a gasp, salt stinging her eyes. The stern loomed above, impossibly far. Voices drifted down—distant, light.
The Captain's laugh. His voice. Talking to the woman.
Addison screamed again. Her mouth filled with water.
The cold was deeper now. Not just shock. It crept into her fingers first—numbing them. Then her arms. Her legs. Her whole body grew sluggish, heavy.
Hypothermia.
She knew the signs. The Captain had taught her. Addison remembered sitting with Archer, practicing sutures on hospital fruit while the Captain quizzed them on charts.
First, your body shivers. Then it gives up.
She surfaced again, wheezing. Shaking. Her grip was slipping.
If she didn't get out soon, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold on at all.
Another laugh. Distant.
"Captain!" she gasped. "H-help! Cap—!"
Dragged back under.
She broke through again, coughing. "It's Addie! It's—!"
Under again. Her fingers scrabbled for the rope. Slipping.
Chest burning. Vision blurring.
She found herself slipping in and out of consciousness, memories taking over.
The hospital gallery. High above the operating room, knees tucked to her chest, watching and waiting, while the Captain worked back late. She often spent hours there, eyes locked on the operating table below, absorbing every careful cut.
She had watched, mesmerized, as the surgeon opened a woman's uterus with practiced precision—slicing cleanly, avoiding harm—until, impossibly, a baby emerged.
At first, it looked dead. A blood-slicked thing, limp and silent. Then, suddenly, it gasped, shuddered, and let out a cry.
The room had shifted in that moment. Addison remembered the expressions on the faces below—the awe, the quiet power of it.
She memorized every move. Then, she had raced back to the Captain's office, heart pounding.
The cafeteria hot dog lay on a napkin before her—an unfortunate but willing patient. Addison straightened her back, lifted the scalpel, and exhaled like she'd seen the surgeons do. Steady hands. Precise movements. This was serious business.
Her first attempt was too rough, splitting the casing wide open. The second wasn't much better. But she adjusted, refined. A lighter touch. A cleaner cut.
Her eyes focused in fierce concentration. Her lips parted as she breathed, front teeth showing just a little—giving her the look of a rabbit deep in thought.
And then—finally—perfection. The casing peeled away in a clean, practiced motion. The meat lifted out in one seamless piece.
Addison grinned, pleased. Then, with the same confidence as a surgeon stepping away from the table, she flicked the scalpel onto the desk and threw her hands up. "Boom. Nailed it."
A quiet chuckle made her freeze.
Addison turned her head, pulse leaping, to find the Captain leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets. Watching.
Eyebrows raised. Amused.
At her.
Her stomach flipped. Heat crept up her neck, but she forced herself not to shrink. Instead, Addison straightened her shoulders, as if this was exactly the kind of brilliance he should expect from her.
And then, just before she could overthink it—he smiled.
He didn't say it out loud, but Addison knew.
The Captain was proud of her.
Addison opened her eyes. Saltwater burned against them, but she forced herself to focus.
He knew she was down here. He had to. This was just another test. Like always. That's why he hadn't come—he wanted her to do it herself.
He trusted her.
The thought steadied her.
She reached—not for the rope around her ankle, but the trailing loose end. If she could pull herself closer…
Her numb fingers found it. She gripped, gritted her teeth, and pulled. Pain blazed through her side, her wrecked body screaming in protest. But she moved—inch by inch—upward.
The back of the boat was above her now. Almost there.
She surfaced again, gasping, teeth chattering, muscles cramping. Still holding on.
The voices continued. Oblivious.
Addison whimpered —fighting to climb, to reach. To be seen.
"Captain!" Her voice cracked, but she forced it out, desperate.
"Here! Down here!"
The water churned around her, cold and merciless. Her vision blurred, but she refused to give up. "It's Addie!" she sputtered, saltwater choking her throat. She spat, gasped, tried again.
"Please!! I'll die!"
Addison wasnt sure if the movement aboard was coming toward her or away. She wasnt sure what she saw anymore.
Addison flung a hand upward, willing him to take it. To save her.
"Help!!" She screamed. "I'll die—I'm dying—please! Captain! Help me up! Pull me up!!"
The cold drowned her voice. The waves dragged her down. Her mouth dipped below the surface, breath stolen.
She clung harder. Her fingers slipped. Her arms trembled as she pulled herself up one more time-
She coughed, spat salt, blinked through stinging eyes.
A sob escaped her, and with it, something she'd never said out loud. A last, desperate plea.
"Dad."
Her breath hitched. That wasn't how it was supposed to sound. It wasn't supposed to come out like that—small and broken, like it had gotten caught in her throat.
She waited.
Waited for him to hear it.
Waited for him to answer.
Silence.
Addison winced, then gasped sharply as something inside of her cracked. The fight drained from her limbs.
He wasn't coming.
Her arms trembled, too weak to grip anymore. Her legs went numb.
Addison sobbed, but the sound turned to coughing, then choking. She couldn't tell if words were coming out anymore. Didn't know if she was even trying.
The cold was inside of her now. Deep in her bones.
Her vision blurred, flickered, dimmed. Addison fought it. Tried.
The rope slipped through her limp fingers and Addison disappeared beneath the waves.
Sound came first.
A slow, rhythmic beep… beep… beep…
Then—feeling.
A weight in her throat. Something foreign. Something wrong.
Addison tried to swallow, but the something was there, pushing against her throat. She tried to breathe, but it forced the air for her.
Panic rose fast and hot, but she forced herself still, squeezing her eyes shut. Somewhere in her foggy memory, she knew: don't fight the tube. People aren't supposed to fight the tube.
Then came the pain.
Her body was wrecked. Her muscles screamed with cold, bruised fatigue.
A dull, throbbing agony radiated from her side. Her fractured ribs protested with every mechanical breath. Her body tensed against it, instinctively trying to stop what it also needed to survive.
Her throat burned raw, scraped by the saltwater and tube.
She blinked open her eyes—slow, sticky. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright.
Addison shifted, wincing. Something was wrapped around her ankle. She forced her eyes downward.
A medical brace. Plastic and foam, strapped tight to hold her broken ankle in place. Around it were bruises. Deep, angry red and purple welts snaked around her skin where the rope had bitten into her flesh.
Footsteps passed. The sound of a chair scraping.
The room was too bright. Too sterile. White ceiling tiles. The hum of a machine, beeping as her vitals displayed over the screens.
Her limbs felt distant, sluggish, like they belonged to someone else.
Addison blinked, willing her mind to work harder. Wide eyes darted, searched - she recognised the charts, the branding, the colour of scrubs as people passed the window of her door.
The Captain's hospital.
And then—memory hit her like a wave.
The boat. The fall. The freezing water.
The Captain's voice, still laughing, still talking, not hearing her screams.
The beeping of her machines picked up, faster, panicked.
She had drowned. She had died.
No—almost. But it must have been close.
A shudder rolled through Addison's chest, but it didn't feel like her own. The machine controlled her breathing. The machine was keeping her alive.
The beeping beside her quickened, high and anxious.
She felt suffocated again. She had to get out.
Footsteps. Shadows at the edge of her vision.
The click of a door opening.
Addison turned her head, the movement sluggish, but her mind racing.
"She's waking," the nurse said, checking her vitals, then a more gentle tone. "Try not to fight the tube, sweetheart. You're safe. You're in the ICU. Just let the machine help for now."
Addison's eyelids fluttered, trying to stop, but her throat felt like it was burning. She tried to reach, claw at the tubes, but her body woildnt cooperate. She felt something crack inside her chest, but no sound came. Her ribs screamed with every breath the ventilator pushed into her lungs.
The nurse turned, a sense of urgency in her voice. "Dr. Montgomery?"
Terrified eyes saw him.
The Captain hesitated.
It was unlike him. He was always decisive, always in control. But now… something in his eyes looked heavy. Unmoored.
Then—"I've got it," he said quietly, stepping in.
The Captain moved to the IV line, calm and careful, making a subtle adjustment to the flow of her pain meds. He didn't announce it. Didn't make a show. Just a quiet, practiced turn of the dial.
Within seconds, Addison felt it.
The edge dulled. Her ribs still ached—but the panic started to ebb. Her pulse began to settle. She could breathe again, or at least let the machine do it for her without fighting it.
The Captain watched the monitor until the numbers dipped back to something safe.
He exhaled through his nose. Rubbed a hand over his jaw. His fingers trembled just slightly.
"She's stable," the nurse murmured. "Vitals are strong, but shes scared."
Addison watched him, quiet desperation burning in her eyes that the Captain didn't know what to do with.
"She's okay," the Captain said, more to himself than anyone.
Then, he looked her in the eyes.
"You're okay."
It came out quieter than she'd ever heard him.
The beeping was steady now, and Addison watched him with a soft expression.
Had the Captain been scared?
The nurse headed out, recognising their need for privacy.
The Captain didn't take Addison's hand. Didn't lean in or offer comfort the way some fathers might.
But he pulled the blanket a little higher over her chest, smoothing it flat. Brushed a strand of damp hair back from her temple with clinical, precise fingers.
He picked up her chart, flipping through the pages with a practiced hand. His eyes didn't just scan. They lingered. Watching the patterns on the screen. The rise and fall of her numbers. The tension in her face.
Addison watched, waiting for him to speak.
And then, finally—
"I don't think we tell Bizzy about this."
Addison blinked.
Not I'm so sorry.
Not I thought I lost you.
Not I love you.
Don't tell Bizzy.
Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
Addison's throat burned. She wanted to scream at him, to rip the tube from her mouth and yell—Why didn't you notice? Why didn't you save me sooner?
But she couldn't.
He sat down in the chair beside her, exhaling heavily. "She'd only worry. And it's not necessary, is it? You're fine now."
Fine.
Addison turned her head away, staring at the ceiling, her pulse pounding in her ears.
For a long moment, he was quiet. Then, after a deep breath, the Captain let out a small, uncertain chuckle—forced, almost hopeful.
"Guess... You finally learned why they call it the boom, huh?"
Addison flinched.
The joke hadn't meant to be cruel, or dismissive. It was worse.
He was trying. The Captain didn't know what to do with sadness, with fear, with guilt—so he reached for humor. For something easy. Something that might make her laugh, like she always did, like she was supposed to.
Addison stared at the ceiling, fingers circled into the blankets in an attempt to hold it together.
There was a moment's silence, then-
"Addie."
She met his eyes.
He hesitated.
And then—he looked away.
A soft laugh instead, too light for the room. "You sure are a lousy sailor."
Addison blinked. Her breath caught, but the machine kept going without her.
Her chest ached.
She had wanted—needed—so badly for him to say something else. Anything else.
To say he'd seen how good she'd gotten. To say she had handled the boat well. That it wasn't her fault.
To tell her she had done something right.
But he didn't. He wouldn't.
Because that wasn't how the Montgomerys worked. They didn't do sad. They didn't do scared. They brushed things off and kept moving forward.
And she was supposed to do the same.
But she couldn't.
Addison turned her head away before the Captain could see the way her face crumpled, before he could catch the tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks.
She wanted the Captain to think she was ignoring him. That she was angry. That she had chosen to turn away.
But the truth was, she just couldn't bear to look at him anymore.
A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, she heard the Captain's pager go off.
Addsion squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to leave before he could see the tears.
"You alright if I take this?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to look at him.
"I'll be back," He tried again, falling back into doctor-mode as he stood. "We'll keep you sedated until the swelling comes down. Try to sleep."
The door clicked shut behind him.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then—Addison broke.
The first sob wrenched from her chest in a painful, stifled gasp. The machine fought against it, forcing a breath into her lungs when she wasn't ready, making her choke.
She clenched her fists, trying to stop, trying to swallow it down, but it was too much.
He hadn't even noticed she was gone.
And now, he wanted her to pretend it hadn't happened. Like they always did. Like she was supposed to.
Addison had been raised not to cry. Not to be messy, not to be too much.
She was meant to be brave. Resilient. A daughter the Captain could be proud of.
But she wasn't.
A fresh wave of tears threatened, but she tried to hold them back—tried—until the sob forced its way out anyway.
Her chest shuddered against the mechanical rise and fall. The machine didn't care that she was breaking apart. It kept her steady, kept her breathing, while the rest of her collapsed.
Tears ran down Addison's face and she couldn't hide them, couldn't wipe them away. All she could do was lay there and wish she could disappear entirely.
Why did the Captain say she was fine?
She wasn't fine. She wasnt anything.
She was just alone.