grey's anatomy fanfiction, mark/addison- two doctors and a baby [3/x]
Two Doctors And A Baby
Author's Notes: Hmm, ok, in which commitment issues rear their ugly heads and Addison realises, shockhorror, that due to foreign DNA reproducing inside of her, she can no longer have sex with the Father of the Baby. (In my own defence, I told you it was silly.)
“I cried,” she throws a peanut against the bar and sighs, “I freaking cried Callie. What is that?”
“Hormones?” Callie shrugs, raising her glass in a silent toast and knocking back another shot of cold clear liquid.
Addison makes a face, “And you know the worst thing about it?”
“Wha?” Callie tips the glass over and rests in against the bar, grinning sloppily.
“He was so freaking reasonable about everything,” she raises her glass of water to her lips and sighs, “He didn’t freak out, even when I started bawling.”
Callie motions to Joe and raises her empty shot glass with a cheery smile, “More please Joe.”
“I can have a little one right?” Addison looks up at the bartender hopefully.
“You want something sweetie?’ he smiles at her and sets Callie’s shot down against the bar top.
“Hell yes,” the redhead pouts, slumping forward against the counter, “On any other day, I’d be telling you to line ‘em up.”
“Oh no Joe,” her so-called friend, who is suitably drunk for this time of night and yet still, annoyingly responsible, “She can’t.”
“Callie,” Addison whines a little, “Please, I had to tell my ex-husband’s ex-best friend who also happens to be my ex-lover, ex-boyfriend, ex-person-who-I-slept-with-to-make-me-feel-better-about-drama-like-this,” she sucks in a breath and continues, “That he’s knocked me up again and I feel that I deserve one, teeny, tiny little drink.”
She gestures with her fingers a little melodramatically to give Callie some indication of this drink’s proposed size.
Callie sniffs, “You know Ad, ordinarily I should highly approof of many teeny tiny little drinks, but you’re pregnant. And you know as well as I do that one little drink comes ten and then you’re waking up somewhere strange and naked missing a kidney so,” she smiles fuzzily and downs her shot, “No.”
“The baby will understand. Mommy needs to get drunk and forget about life for a few hours.”
“Usually a story like that would earn you one on the house,” Joe interjects, “But I don’t serve alcohol to pregnant women.”
“Fine,” Addison huffs, propping her face up with her hand and thrusting her glass in Joe’s direction, “More ice then, please.”
“With pleasure.”
Pouting, Addison traces the rim of the glass of water absently, “And to make matters worse, I’m so damn horny right now. I swear, we should run tests or something because this just can’t be natural. I’m sitting here, innocently and the pressure from the bar stool is making things so uncomfortable.”
Callie grins and puts a hand on Addison’s thigh, “You know hon, if it wasn’t adultery now I would help you out but it would ruin a beautiful friendship.”
“No offence Cal, but I like my sex to come with a penis.”
Callie pats her knee reassuringly, “So I’ve noticed.”
“And normally this isn’t an issue,” she waves a hand about distractedly, squirming a little at the other woman’s touch which is so. embarrassing. but really, she wasn’t lying about the horny thing. She’s got a routine now. And her body, despite being pregnant, doesn’t seem to want to approve of any change to that slightly vigorous routine, “Because I have Mark. And even when all I want to do is drag Alex Karev into somewhere vaguely private and force myself on him, which is a lot these days, honest to Gods, I can still sleep with Mark and at least on the levels he’s willing to discuss, he doesn’t care about that.”
“You’ve honestly told him you’re thinking about someone else?”
Addison shrugs, “Jealousy does wonderful things for him. Really, I mean… he gets angry and possessive and,” she shivers a little, “Slightly rough. I know, it seems counterintuitive but,” she raises her palm to the ceiling, “Insult his ego, even slightly, and he’s all about rising to the occasion.”
“Literally?” Callie wiggles her eyebrows.
“This is Mark we’re talking about,” Addison rolls her eyes, “That is never a problem. Do you think I’ve caught this insatiable lust thing off him? I mean, is that even genetically possible? That because his DNA is reproducing in side of me, I’m considering humping walls?”
“Medically I’m sure you’ve got no argument,” Callie assures her.
“Well anyway, I can’t have sex with him now.”
Callie just looks at her. It’s that ‘Addison, this is one of your quirks that you’re just going to have to explain’ look. So the redhead shuffles around and tucks her hair behind her ears, sighing, “His DNA is reproducing in side of me. I just… can’t have sex with him now. All I can think about is how utterly terrified I am about bringing anyone’s child into the world, much less his.”
“Oh Addison,” is all Callie says, except it comes out as one word with less syllables than it should have and Addison grins a little in triumph because this time, just for once, the ‘poor misguided soul’ look is replaced by ‘bleary-eyed drunk.’
“And I mean, I still want to have sex,” she continues, since it doesn’t matter if she’s far too sober to be confessing this kind of thing; her companion has done enough drinking for the both of them, “I just… can’t have sex with him and so,” she sighs, “Alex wants in on all my surgeries and the last thing I need is something warm and smelling distinctly of male standing next to me all afternoon when I need a change of underwear as it is, without anything to encourage me.”
“So stop pretending you’re some saint,” Callie snorts a little at this and really, the idea is sort of funny. She could be like Augustine though: Lord make me a saint, just not yet.
“I am not being self-righteous about this,” Addison sniffs, “I’m just a little… frustrated right now.”
“Lemme finish my sentence,” Callie waves the glass around to emphasise her point, “Stop pretending you’re the freakin’ pure and virgin Mary and sleep with the help already.”
“There is an argument that says I should not be lusting after men who are not the father of the baby,” she moans, letting her head drop to her hands, “And the worst thing is I’m sure that he, Alex, knows. I mean who wants to screw the pregnant girl anyway? Really,” she pouts melodramatically, “I’ve got no romantic prospects now; I may as well resign myself to single motherhood and start getting myself off three times a day.”
“Oh pfft,” Callie laughs, “The father of your baby would be more than willing, and you know it.”
“But I can’t,” she answers with wide eyes, “Really. The idea is so unappealing. And believe me when I say the help is more distracting than ever and yet,” she shrugs, “Still the help? It just screams an episode of Desperate Housewives to me. Give me another day though, and desperate might be accurate in terms of describing my attitude to sex.”
Callie just giggles all over again.
“Plus Alex is,” she sighs to herself, “Such a sweetie. I’ve got a little bit of a crush on him really. And I know it’s maternal instincts gone wrong because really, the urge to mother versus the urge to screw senseless should never, ever be a debate but it’s endearing sometimes, watching his growing interest in neonatal… which is something Mark doesn’t respect at all.”
“Is this a reaction to his reaction to the pregnancy?” Callie asks, raising an eyebrow as she reaches for Addison’s water.
“What do you mean?” Addison retorts, reluctantly surrendering the glass that she really feels no attachment to given its contents, “A reaction to his reaction? He didn’t react. At all. He’s being so completely reasonable about this that I don’t know what to do.”
“So lemme get this straight,” Callie looks up in disbelief, throwing her hands out in exaggerated and drunken gestures, “On the one hand you were freaked out that he would freak out and then you’d freak out and in general, everybody would be freaking out but,” another hand flings itself sideways and colliding with Addison’s shoulder with a loud smack, “On the other one, you’re freaking out because he didn’t freak out?”
The redhead rubs at her arm, gingerly, “Yes?”
“Oh honey.”
“I know, I know,” she folds her arms miserably, “It doesn’t make sense but at least if he freaked out then I could freak out without looking like I was just irrational and well… freaking out about it, which I am, completely and utterly. Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of being responsible for feeding, clothing, bathing and raising another human being. Nothing, not even spiders,” she shudders at the thought, “And what if it’s a boy Callie? What am I going to do when my four year old son figures out that I’m deathly terrified of insect life? And I do mean deathly afraid. He’s going to catch something disgusting like a grasshopper and I’m going to be forced to cower in the bathroom until he gets rid of it and after that I’m going to have absolutely no authority, ever again.”
She sighs.
“More to the point, how am I meant to raise a child? How are Mark and I meant to raise a child Callie? We’re practically overgrown children ourselves… well, teenagers maybe, given the sex thing but… I have absolutely no idea how this motherhood thing works. I mean, I didn’t have a mother. I had a nanny, or more accurately, I had nannies… and it’s hard to form a deep emotional connection to women who look after you for a maximum of four weeks and only speak Spanglish, no offence or anything.”
“Saying no offence was more offensive than the racial slur itself,” Callie narrows her eyes at her.
Addison is too distraught at this point to care, “And as for Mark, well, I mean… does the man strike you as the type that played baseball with his father in the backyard? The inability to feel any kind of connection to a woman that isn’t directly related to penis-in-vagina, the list of partners that rivals the national electoral roll in length, the chauvinistic, sleazy, know-it-all son of a bitch act? Does any of that seem like good role model material? I mean obviously he has no idea how to be a dad.”
“I don’t know,” Callie shrugs, “Only a mother could do that kind of damage.”
“Callie, this is the second time he’s knocked me up. Oh my God, have you ever thought about how many children he must already have? I think I'm going to be sick.”
“And it’s not even morning,” the resident laughs at her own joke and drums her fingers against the bar top, “Addison, relax. I mean sure, the two of you have,” she rolls her eyes, “Issues to rival that of the Gaza strip but I’m sure you’ll both do fine. It’s parenthood, not putting man on the moon.”
“Putting man on the moon would be easier,” she whines, “I mean sure, I’d have to revise some of the physics, but rocket science? Is nothing compared to this.”
“You’ll work it out,” she pats at her friend’s arm, “You’re both intelligent, dedicated professionals even if sometimes you like to pretend you’re immature sex addicts still working through your adolescent issues.”
“Oh my God, you’re spot on,” Addison cringes.
“Seriously. Addison Montgomery, look at me,” she prods at the other woman’s shoulder until she reluctantly complies, “You’re both doctors, surgeons even, you made it through surgical residency. You can do anything.”
“I think this is a misconception common amongst our profession,” she points out.
“No really, explain to me how two highly qualified, slightly insecure but otherwise functional people who have issues but can work on those issues are ill-equipped to raise a child? Relax Addison. God knows stressing about it isn’t going to do you or the baby any good.”
The red-head takes a deep breath and reconsiders the situation, trying to remain calm, objective, not-freaking-out-about-everything. In and out Addison, she tells herself, just breathe in and out.
Between them they have eight years of college education, eight years of medical school, an OBGYN residency, plus fourteen years as surgical residents and a doctorate in foetal genetics from Harvard Medical School. They are two doctors, surgeons no less. Surely, between the two of them, they’re going to be able to deal with a baby right?
Addison’s been dealing with babies every day for years.
What can possibly go wrong?
Ok, stupid question but she shouldn’t be completely freaking out right? Sure, last time this happened it didn’t end well. But he was sweet about it at first, and she really didn’t do much to help the whole situation with the mood swings and the still-being-in-love-with-her-ex-husband thing.
Things are different now.
And yes, maybe he never really thought about being a father, but he doesn’t seem to hate the idea.
And yes, she’s always said she wanted children of her own ‘someday’ as though she’s still seventeen and ‘not for a few years yet’ seemed sensible considering she had eight years of education ahead of her. So maybe she’s always been secretly glad, and not just as a surgeon, when she gets to give the babies she plays mom to back to their parents at the end of the day.
Reluctant, shocked, unprepared parents they may be. But bad parents?
They’re going to do ok.
Right?
“You’re sure I can’t have just one?” Addison asks mournfully, the result of her reflection manifesting itself as a desire for alcohol.
“Yesh,” Callie slurs, falling forward against the bar top.
Sighing, the redhead rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t know if I did.”
“Sure I would,” her friend replies, turning her face sideways against the hard wood, “I swear on drunk I’m not chief resident.”
Addison pats her shoulder condescendingly, “It’s ok Cal, I know.”
“Juss one,” Callie raises a finger in warning, “Because I feel bad, watching you mope while I slowly get plastered.”
“Whaddya mean slowly?” she teases, “Five shots in half an hour and you are gone.”
“Not,” Callie protests, “So not. Where’s my husband anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Addison flashes Joe her most winning smile, “Joe.”
He looks at her, “Don’t even ask.”
She twists her hair around her fingers coyly, “Please?”
“Hey hon, everything is going to work out fine. You don’t need the booze.”
“Sure I don’t,” she smiles, “Look, I am… the foremost neonatal specialist in the country or at least definitely on the West Coast and I have doctorates in things you’ve never heard of so … just give me the damn drink ok?”
Because, she figures, her mother probably drank like a fish during pregnancy since she seemed to be perpetually drunk for the first seventeen years of her life after birth so it seems to be the logical assumption, and hey, she turned out all right. Didn’t she?
So she glares at Joe until he mixes her a Manhattan and sets it down beside her waiting hand. Immediately she draws it to her body and strokes the side of the glass affectionately, possessively, like that creature from Lord of the Rings that was always saying ‘my precioussss’.
Oh yes, it’s her precious, prized alcohol and she fought long and hard for it so there’s no way in hell anyone is going to ruin this for her. It’s the last one she’ll have in nine months, she reasons, and given her post-divorce tendency to down as many alcoholic drinks in rapid succession as possible whenever things go the slightest bit wrong, it’s going to take a bit of getting used to.
In the interests of getting the slightest hit from what little alcohol she’s been permitted by the friend that probably no longer has the judgement to be making these kinds of decisions, she tilts her head back and gulps it down as quickly as possible.
Shooting a glance sideways, she takes several seconds to decide that there’s no way in hell Callie is going to notice if she has one more.
“Keep ‘em coming Joe,” she smiles widely and tries to ignore the internal conflict because really, in any other circumstances, she’d already have drunk-dialled someone or hit on a stranger young enough to be her son (if she had been as stupid as she is now at seventeen) and ended up passed out and naked in her hotel room. Is that a mature and rational response to life events? Maybe not. But who cares? Addison is through with being responsible tonight.
Joe sets the drink down in front of her and shakes his head.
Don’t do it Ad, says one of those annoying voices in her head, You know the best way to turn up all the people you don’t want to see at the bar right now is to have that drink. You just watch. You take one sip of that and the Father Of The Baby will be here, all self-righteous and pissed off and Alex Karev will be here, wanting sex but playing hard to get and your ex-husband will be here, acting wounded and hurt that his best friend impregnated you again and … don’t do it Addison.
But she’s doing it. It’s halfway there and she’s thinking something along the lines of ‘sweet, sweet ethanol’ when she feels a presence beside her shoulder. A male presence; one that smells horribly familiar and does something embarrassing between her legs despite the fact that he’s Not Meant To Do That to her anymore.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he plucks the second from her hands before she even has a chance to sip at it and sets it down on the bar top, “And you do realise that Callie is this close to falling on the floor don’t you?”
She smirks at him, “I’m drinking Mark, I am,” she plucks the glass off the polished wood and attempts to raise it to her lips but he meets her wrist mid-gesture, causing an amber coloured stain to grow all over her white shirt. She glares at him, “You’ve ruined my shirt.”
“You’re a lightweight Addison,” he teases, “That’s,” he looks her up and down, “At most your fourth and you’re already spilling them.”
“Iss her first,” Callie raises a finger at him, gripping the bar stool wildly as she loses her balance a little, “Iss her first I swear it.”
He just shakes his head at the both of them, “Isn’t there some argument that alcohol is bad for the baby?”
“Hey, at least I’m not shooting crack,” she mumbles, staring at her hands.
“You wouldn’t have the first clue how to shoot crack,” he accuses, sitting beside her and watching as she absently pushes the glass in Callie’s direction, “And just between you and me, your friend doesn’t need any more.”
“Sure I do,” Callie glares murderously and proceeds to messily slosh the alcoholic concoction all over Joe’s bar.
Mark just rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated noise.
Addison looks sideways, blinking innocently and asking in a small voice, “Are you mad at me?”
“For what? Neglecting to look after yourself or the baby?”
“Oh my God, you are.”
“I’m more mad about your inability to express any of your concerns to me instead of coming here with the intention of drowning them in the bottom of a glass.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” she counters.
“Was mine,” Callie looks up with a huge smile, “Marriage sucks. But donmind me, youjus keeeep talkin’.”
“Hang on a second,” Addison gapes at Mark a little, “You’re not the slightest bit tempted to act like a complete jackass right now?”
He just blinks at her, “Addison?”
“Well,” she blinks back, “Ordinarily you’d have done something incredibly stupid at this point, like yelled at me or slept with a slutty nurse and,” she leans closer and inspects the collar of his shirt, sniffing a little, “Since the only thing you smell like is a day’s worth of work and bar,” she wrinkles her nose, “I’ll have to conclude that you’ve done neither of those things… yet. Unless that’s why you’re here now in which case,” she sighs, “Ok, that must be it.”
“That must be what?” he narrows his eyes at her.
“The only explanation of your otherwise reasonable reaction to the days events,” she responds, “Which, you have to admit, would usually cause the Mark I know to act like a tantrum-prone sixteen year old for weeks on end.”
“Hey, last time this happened I was ok with it.”
“So was Charlene, apparently, or did you neglect to mention the potential-parenthood-with-another-woman before you were naked?”
“I do not react like a sixteen year old to all major life events.”
“Oh please, you called me five times a day when I left you and hung up when I let it go to voicemail.”
“You’re the one who broke up with me via IM.”
“Ok, no, I had already broken up with you then. If the clothes missing from the closet and trail of destruction wasn’t any indication, we were over a long time before that; I just had to reiterate because you were too stupid to get it the first ten times.”
“Speaking of that trail of destruction, I’m not the one who decided it was necessary to throw things across the apartment in a fit of anger,” he points out, “And killing our fish was a little immature Addison. Really, the poor little guy must have flopped around on the floor for hours after you dropped the bowl on the tiles.”
“Well at least my first response to an unplanned pregnancy isn’t to say ‘but we were careful’ and sulk for a few hours.”
“Excuse me I was not sulking, I was walking. I needed to think about it.”
“You were sulking.”
“You were hiding under the covers which is hardly much better.”
“Mark, you should be freaking out about this, or at least… slightly worried about this because if you’re not, then I don’t know what to do which is why I’m here. Because you seem completely ok with the idea and that just cannot possibly be a good thing.”
“Ok, yeah, I’m ok with the idea, because maybe now you’ll actually have to talk to me and tell me how you feel about things and maybe now, we’ll be able to stop avoiding all the crap that went on and actually deal with something, work through it, move past it because I for one am sick of trying to ignore it, run away from it, pretend it never happened and failing to do that rather miserably. So yes, I’m ok with it because you can’t run away from this Addison; it’s not just about you and me anymore.”
“Shit.”
“I said that out loud didn’t I?”
He turns to look at her, looking mortified and she nods in wide eyed horror.
“Shit,” he echoes, “Too much too soon?”
“Too much,” she corrects, “Just stop there.”
“So I’m going to go now.”
“My initial instinct is screaming at me, telling me to run away as fast and as far as possible. What do you think about Australia? The Atlantic is a big ocean.”
“Dramatic change,” he muses, “But it could work. And I feel like an idiot. All I can think is ‘retreat retreat!’ Maybe I could move back to New York.”
Callie chooses this opportune moment to slide to the floor in an attempt to lift herself off the bar stool. They both turn to stare, standing to help the woman to her feet and very promptly go their separate ways: Addison drags Callie to the curb and Mark sits back down.
The mutual instinct to take flight as soon as commitment of any kind is mentioned is probably going to be a problem over the next eighteen years and nine months, but Addison’s trying not to add that her very long list of reasons why This Is Never Going To Work.
“Did ya sort i’all out?” Callie mumbles.
Addison just sighs, feeling slightly sick in the stomach, “He seems ok with everything for now; seems to think it’s a blessing in disguise. I’m not sure he’s grasped the concept of us not being together, in any way, at all, ever again.”
“So he’s not freakin’ out?”
“No but I haven’t told him I can’t have sex with him yet. That ought to do it.”
Chapter The Second Be Here
Author's Notes: Hmm, ok, in which commitment issues rear their ugly heads and Addison realises, shockhorror, that due to foreign DNA reproducing inside of her, she can no longer have sex with the Father of the Baby. (In my own defence, I told you it was silly.)
“I cried,” she throws a peanut against the bar and sighs, “I freaking cried Callie. What is that?”
“Hormones?” Callie shrugs, raising her glass in a silent toast and knocking back another shot of cold clear liquid.
Addison makes a face, “And you know the worst thing about it?”
“Wha?” Callie tips the glass over and rests in against the bar, grinning sloppily.
“He was so freaking reasonable about everything,” she raises her glass of water to her lips and sighs, “He didn’t freak out, even when I started bawling.”
Callie motions to Joe and raises her empty shot glass with a cheery smile, “More please Joe.”
“I can have a little one right?” Addison looks up at the bartender hopefully.
“You want something sweetie?’ he smiles at her and sets Callie’s shot down against the bar top.
“Hell yes,” the redhead pouts, slumping forward against the counter, “On any other day, I’d be telling you to line ‘em up.”
“Oh no Joe,” her so-called friend, who is suitably drunk for this time of night and yet still, annoyingly responsible, “She can’t.”
“Callie,” Addison whines a little, “Please, I had to tell my ex-husband’s ex-best friend who also happens to be my ex-lover, ex-boyfriend, ex-person-who-I-slept-with-to-make-me-feel-better-about-drama-like-this,” she sucks in a breath and continues, “That he’s knocked me up again and I feel that I deserve one, teeny, tiny little drink.”
She gestures with her fingers a little melodramatically to give Callie some indication of this drink’s proposed size.
Callie sniffs, “You know Ad, ordinarily I should highly approof of many teeny tiny little drinks, but you’re pregnant. And you know as well as I do that one little drink comes ten and then you’re waking up somewhere strange and naked missing a kidney so,” she smiles fuzzily and downs her shot, “No.”
“The baby will understand. Mommy needs to get drunk and forget about life for a few hours.”
“Usually a story like that would earn you one on the house,” Joe interjects, “But I don’t serve alcohol to pregnant women.”
“Fine,” Addison huffs, propping her face up with her hand and thrusting her glass in Joe’s direction, “More ice then, please.”
“With pleasure.”
Pouting, Addison traces the rim of the glass of water absently, “And to make matters worse, I’m so damn horny right now. I swear, we should run tests or something because this just can’t be natural. I’m sitting here, innocently and the pressure from the bar stool is making things so uncomfortable.”
Callie grins and puts a hand on Addison’s thigh, “You know hon, if it wasn’t adultery now I would help you out but it would ruin a beautiful friendship.”
“No offence Cal, but I like my sex to come with a penis.”
Callie pats her knee reassuringly, “So I’ve noticed.”
“And normally this isn’t an issue,” she waves a hand about distractedly, squirming a little at the other woman’s touch which is so. embarrassing. but really, she wasn’t lying about the horny thing. She’s got a routine now. And her body, despite being pregnant, doesn’t seem to want to approve of any change to that slightly vigorous routine, “Because I have Mark. And even when all I want to do is drag Alex Karev into somewhere vaguely private and force myself on him, which is a lot these days, honest to Gods, I can still sleep with Mark and at least on the levels he’s willing to discuss, he doesn’t care about that.”
“You’ve honestly told him you’re thinking about someone else?”
Addison shrugs, “Jealousy does wonderful things for him. Really, I mean… he gets angry and possessive and,” she shivers a little, “Slightly rough. I know, it seems counterintuitive but,” she raises her palm to the ceiling, “Insult his ego, even slightly, and he’s all about rising to the occasion.”
“Literally?” Callie wiggles her eyebrows.
“This is Mark we’re talking about,” Addison rolls her eyes, “That is never a problem. Do you think I’ve caught this insatiable lust thing off him? I mean, is that even genetically possible? That because his DNA is reproducing in side of me, I’m considering humping walls?”
“Medically I’m sure you’ve got no argument,” Callie assures her.
“Well anyway, I can’t have sex with him now.”
Callie just looks at her. It’s that ‘Addison, this is one of your quirks that you’re just going to have to explain’ look. So the redhead shuffles around and tucks her hair behind her ears, sighing, “His DNA is reproducing in side of me. I just… can’t have sex with him now. All I can think about is how utterly terrified I am about bringing anyone’s child into the world, much less his.”
“Oh Addison,” is all Callie says, except it comes out as one word with less syllables than it should have and Addison grins a little in triumph because this time, just for once, the ‘poor misguided soul’ look is replaced by ‘bleary-eyed drunk.’
“And I mean, I still want to have sex,” she continues, since it doesn’t matter if she’s far too sober to be confessing this kind of thing; her companion has done enough drinking for the both of them, “I just… can’t have sex with him and so,” she sighs, “Alex wants in on all my surgeries and the last thing I need is something warm and smelling distinctly of male standing next to me all afternoon when I need a change of underwear as it is, without anything to encourage me.”
“So stop pretending you’re some saint,” Callie snorts a little at this and really, the idea is sort of funny. She could be like Augustine though: Lord make me a saint, just not yet.
“I am not being self-righteous about this,” Addison sniffs, “I’m just a little… frustrated right now.”
“Lemme finish my sentence,” Callie waves the glass around to emphasise her point, “Stop pretending you’re the freakin’ pure and virgin Mary and sleep with the help already.”
“There is an argument that says I should not be lusting after men who are not the father of the baby,” she moans, letting her head drop to her hands, “And the worst thing is I’m sure that he, Alex, knows. I mean who wants to screw the pregnant girl anyway? Really,” she pouts melodramatically, “I’ve got no romantic prospects now; I may as well resign myself to single motherhood and start getting myself off three times a day.”
“Oh pfft,” Callie laughs, “The father of your baby would be more than willing, and you know it.”
“But I can’t,” she answers with wide eyes, “Really. The idea is so unappealing. And believe me when I say the help is more distracting than ever and yet,” she shrugs, “Still the help? It just screams an episode of Desperate Housewives to me. Give me another day though, and desperate might be accurate in terms of describing my attitude to sex.”
Callie just giggles all over again.
“Plus Alex is,” she sighs to herself, “Such a sweetie. I’ve got a little bit of a crush on him really. And I know it’s maternal instincts gone wrong because really, the urge to mother versus the urge to screw senseless should never, ever be a debate but it’s endearing sometimes, watching his growing interest in neonatal… which is something Mark doesn’t respect at all.”
“Is this a reaction to his reaction to the pregnancy?” Callie asks, raising an eyebrow as she reaches for Addison’s water.
“What do you mean?” Addison retorts, reluctantly surrendering the glass that she really feels no attachment to given its contents, “A reaction to his reaction? He didn’t react. At all. He’s being so completely reasonable about this that I don’t know what to do.”
“So lemme get this straight,” Callie looks up in disbelief, throwing her hands out in exaggerated and drunken gestures, “On the one hand you were freaked out that he would freak out and then you’d freak out and in general, everybody would be freaking out but,” another hand flings itself sideways and colliding with Addison’s shoulder with a loud smack, “On the other one, you’re freaking out because he didn’t freak out?”
The redhead rubs at her arm, gingerly, “Yes?”
“Oh honey.”
“I know, I know,” she folds her arms miserably, “It doesn’t make sense but at least if he freaked out then I could freak out without looking like I was just irrational and well… freaking out about it, which I am, completely and utterly. Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of being responsible for feeding, clothing, bathing and raising another human being. Nothing, not even spiders,” she shudders at the thought, “And what if it’s a boy Callie? What am I going to do when my four year old son figures out that I’m deathly terrified of insect life? And I do mean deathly afraid. He’s going to catch something disgusting like a grasshopper and I’m going to be forced to cower in the bathroom until he gets rid of it and after that I’m going to have absolutely no authority, ever again.”
She sighs.
“More to the point, how am I meant to raise a child? How are Mark and I meant to raise a child Callie? We’re practically overgrown children ourselves… well, teenagers maybe, given the sex thing but… I have absolutely no idea how this motherhood thing works. I mean, I didn’t have a mother. I had a nanny, or more accurately, I had nannies… and it’s hard to form a deep emotional connection to women who look after you for a maximum of four weeks and only speak Spanglish, no offence or anything.”
“Saying no offence was more offensive than the racial slur itself,” Callie narrows her eyes at her.
Addison is too distraught at this point to care, “And as for Mark, well, I mean… does the man strike you as the type that played baseball with his father in the backyard? The inability to feel any kind of connection to a woman that isn’t directly related to penis-in-vagina, the list of partners that rivals the national electoral roll in length, the chauvinistic, sleazy, know-it-all son of a bitch act? Does any of that seem like good role model material? I mean obviously he has no idea how to be a dad.”
“I don’t know,” Callie shrugs, “Only a mother could do that kind of damage.”
“Callie, this is the second time he’s knocked me up. Oh my God, have you ever thought about how many children he must already have? I think I'm going to be sick.”
“And it’s not even morning,” the resident laughs at her own joke and drums her fingers against the bar top, “Addison, relax. I mean sure, the two of you have,” she rolls her eyes, “Issues to rival that of the Gaza strip but I’m sure you’ll both do fine. It’s parenthood, not putting man on the moon.”
“Putting man on the moon would be easier,” she whines, “I mean sure, I’d have to revise some of the physics, but rocket science? Is nothing compared to this.”
“You’ll work it out,” she pats at her friend’s arm, “You’re both intelligent, dedicated professionals even if sometimes you like to pretend you’re immature sex addicts still working through your adolescent issues.”
“Oh my God, you’re spot on,” Addison cringes.
“Seriously. Addison Montgomery, look at me,” she prods at the other woman’s shoulder until she reluctantly complies, “You’re both doctors, surgeons even, you made it through surgical residency. You can do anything.”
“I think this is a misconception common amongst our profession,” she points out.
“No really, explain to me how two highly qualified, slightly insecure but otherwise functional people who have issues but can work on those issues are ill-equipped to raise a child? Relax Addison. God knows stressing about it isn’t going to do you or the baby any good.”
The red-head takes a deep breath and reconsiders the situation, trying to remain calm, objective, not-freaking-out-about-everything. In and out Addison, she tells herself, just breathe in and out.
Between them they have eight years of college education, eight years of medical school, an OBGYN residency, plus fourteen years as surgical residents and a doctorate in foetal genetics from Harvard Medical School. They are two doctors, surgeons no less. Surely, between the two of them, they’re going to be able to deal with a baby right?
Addison’s been dealing with babies every day for years.
What can possibly go wrong?
Ok, stupid question but she shouldn’t be completely freaking out right? Sure, last time this happened it didn’t end well. But he was sweet about it at first, and she really didn’t do much to help the whole situation with the mood swings and the still-being-in-love-with-her-ex-husband thing.
Things are different now.
And yes, maybe he never really thought about being a father, but he doesn’t seem to hate the idea.
And yes, she’s always said she wanted children of her own ‘someday’ as though she’s still seventeen and ‘not for a few years yet’ seemed sensible considering she had eight years of education ahead of her. So maybe she’s always been secretly glad, and not just as a surgeon, when she gets to give the babies she plays mom to back to their parents at the end of the day.
Reluctant, shocked, unprepared parents they may be. But bad parents?
They’re going to do ok.
Right?
“You’re sure I can’t have just one?” Addison asks mournfully, the result of her reflection manifesting itself as a desire for alcohol.
“Yesh,” Callie slurs, falling forward against the bar top.
Sighing, the redhead rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t know if I did.”
“Sure I would,” her friend replies, turning her face sideways against the hard wood, “I swear on drunk I’m not chief resident.”
Addison pats her shoulder condescendingly, “It’s ok Cal, I know.”
“Juss one,” Callie raises a finger in warning, “Because I feel bad, watching you mope while I slowly get plastered.”
“Whaddya mean slowly?” she teases, “Five shots in half an hour and you are gone.”
“Not,” Callie protests, “So not. Where’s my husband anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Addison flashes Joe her most winning smile, “Joe.”
He looks at her, “Don’t even ask.”
She twists her hair around her fingers coyly, “Please?”
“Hey hon, everything is going to work out fine. You don’t need the booze.”
“Sure I don’t,” she smiles, “Look, I am… the foremost neonatal specialist in the country or at least definitely on the West Coast and I have doctorates in things you’ve never heard of so … just give me the damn drink ok?”
Because, she figures, her mother probably drank like a fish during pregnancy since she seemed to be perpetually drunk for the first seventeen years of her life after birth so it seems to be the logical assumption, and hey, she turned out all right. Didn’t she?
So she glares at Joe until he mixes her a Manhattan and sets it down beside her waiting hand. Immediately she draws it to her body and strokes the side of the glass affectionately, possessively, like that creature from Lord of the Rings that was always saying ‘my precioussss’.
Oh yes, it’s her precious, prized alcohol and she fought long and hard for it so there’s no way in hell anyone is going to ruin this for her. It’s the last one she’ll have in nine months, she reasons, and given her post-divorce tendency to down as many alcoholic drinks in rapid succession as possible whenever things go the slightest bit wrong, it’s going to take a bit of getting used to.
In the interests of getting the slightest hit from what little alcohol she’s been permitted by the friend that probably no longer has the judgement to be making these kinds of decisions, she tilts her head back and gulps it down as quickly as possible.
Shooting a glance sideways, she takes several seconds to decide that there’s no way in hell Callie is going to notice if she has one more.
“Keep ‘em coming Joe,” she smiles widely and tries to ignore the internal conflict because really, in any other circumstances, she’d already have drunk-dialled someone or hit on a stranger young enough to be her son (if she had been as stupid as she is now at seventeen) and ended up passed out and naked in her hotel room. Is that a mature and rational response to life events? Maybe not. But who cares? Addison is through with being responsible tonight.
Joe sets the drink down in front of her and shakes his head.
Don’t do it Ad, says one of those annoying voices in her head, You know the best way to turn up all the people you don’t want to see at the bar right now is to have that drink. You just watch. You take one sip of that and the Father Of The Baby will be here, all self-righteous and pissed off and Alex Karev will be here, wanting sex but playing hard to get and your ex-husband will be here, acting wounded and hurt that his best friend impregnated you again and … don’t do it Addison.
But she’s doing it. It’s halfway there and she’s thinking something along the lines of ‘sweet, sweet ethanol’ when she feels a presence beside her shoulder. A male presence; one that smells horribly familiar and does something embarrassing between her legs despite the fact that he’s Not Meant To Do That to her anymore.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he plucks the second from her hands before she even has a chance to sip at it and sets it down on the bar top, “And you do realise that Callie is this close to falling on the floor don’t you?”
She smirks at him, “I’m drinking Mark, I am,” she plucks the glass off the polished wood and attempts to raise it to her lips but he meets her wrist mid-gesture, causing an amber coloured stain to grow all over her white shirt. She glares at him, “You’ve ruined my shirt.”
“You’re a lightweight Addison,” he teases, “That’s,” he looks her up and down, “At most your fourth and you’re already spilling them.”
“Iss her first,” Callie raises a finger at him, gripping the bar stool wildly as she loses her balance a little, “Iss her first I swear it.”
He just shakes his head at the both of them, “Isn’t there some argument that alcohol is bad for the baby?”
“Hey, at least I’m not shooting crack,” she mumbles, staring at her hands.
“You wouldn’t have the first clue how to shoot crack,” he accuses, sitting beside her and watching as she absently pushes the glass in Callie’s direction, “And just between you and me, your friend doesn’t need any more.”
“Sure I do,” Callie glares murderously and proceeds to messily slosh the alcoholic concoction all over Joe’s bar.
Mark just rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated noise.
Addison looks sideways, blinking innocently and asking in a small voice, “Are you mad at me?”
“For what? Neglecting to look after yourself or the baby?”
“Oh my God, you are.”
“I’m more mad about your inability to express any of your concerns to me instead of coming here with the intention of drowning them in the bottom of a glass.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” she counters.
“Was mine,” Callie looks up with a huge smile, “Marriage sucks. But donmind me, youjus keeeep talkin’.”
“Hang on a second,” Addison gapes at Mark a little, “You’re not the slightest bit tempted to act like a complete jackass right now?”
He just blinks at her, “Addison?”
“Well,” she blinks back, “Ordinarily you’d have done something incredibly stupid at this point, like yelled at me or slept with a slutty nurse and,” she leans closer and inspects the collar of his shirt, sniffing a little, “Since the only thing you smell like is a day’s worth of work and bar,” she wrinkles her nose, “I’ll have to conclude that you’ve done neither of those things… yet. Unless that’s why you’re here now in which case,” she sighs, “Ok, that must be it.”
“That must be what?” he narrows his eyes at her.
“The only explanation of your otherwise reasonable reaction to the days events,” she responds, “Which, you have to admit, would usually cause the Mark I know to act like a tantrum-prone sixteen year old for weeks on end.”
“Hey, last time this happened I was ok with it.”
“So was Charlene, apparently, or did you neglect to mention the potential-parenthood-with-another-woman before you were naked?”
“I do not react like a sixteen year old to all major life events.”
“Oh please, you called me five times a day when I left you and hung up when I let it go to voicemail.”
“You’re the one who broke up with me via IM.”
“Ok, no, I had already broken up with you then. If the clothes missing from the closet and trail of destruction wasn’t any indication, we were over a long time before that; I just had to reiterate because you were too stupid to get it the first ten times.”
“Speaking of that trail of destruction, I’m not the one who decided it was necessary to throw things across the apartment in a fit of anger,” he points out, “And killing our fish was a little immature Addison. Really, the poor little guy must have flopped around on the floor for hours after you dropped the bowl on the tiles.”
“Well at least my first response to an unplanned pregnancy isn’t to say ‘but we were careful’ and sulk for a few hours.”
“Excuse me I was not sulking, I was walking. I needed to think about it.”
“You were sulking.”
“You were hiding under the covers which is hardly much better.”
“Mark, you should be freaking out about this, or at least… slightly worried about this because if you’re not, then I don’t know what to do which is why I’m here. Because you seem completely ok with the idea and that just cannot possibly be a good thing.”
“Ok, yeah, I’m ok with the idea, because maybe now you’ll actually have to talk to me and tell me how you feel about things and maybe now, we’ll be able to stop avoiding all the crap that went on and actually deal with something, work through it, move past it because I for one am sick of trying to ignore it, run away from it, pretend it never happened and failing to do that rather miserably. So yes, I’m ok with it because you can’t run away from this Addison; it’s not just about you and me anymore.”
“Shit.”
“I said that out loud didn’t I?”
He turns to look at her, looking mortified and she nods in wide eyed horror.
“Shit,” he echoes, “Too much too soon?”
“Too much,” she corrects, “Just stop there.”
“So I’m going to go now.”
“My initial instinct is screaming at me, telling me to run away as fast and as far as possible. What do you think about Australia? The Atlantic is a big ocean.”
“Dramatic change,” he muses, “But it could work. And I feel like an idiot. All I can think is ‘retreat retreat!’ Maybe I could move back to New York.”
Callie chooses this opportune moment to slide to the floor in an attempt to lift herself off the bar stool. They both turn to stare, standing to help the woman to her feet and very promptly go their separate ways: Addison drags Callie to the curb and Mark sits back down.
The mutual instinct to take flight as soon as commitment of any kind is mentioned is probably going to be a problem over the next eighteen years and nine months, but Addison’s trying not to add that her very long list of reasons why This Is Never Going To Work.
“Did ya sort i’all out?” Callie mumbles.
Addison just sighs, feeling slightly sick in the stomach, “He seems ok with everything for now; seems to think it’s a blessing in disguise. I’m not sure he’s grasped the concept of us not being together, in any way, at all, ever again.”
“So he’s not freakin’ out?”
“No but I haven’t told him I can’t have sex with him yet. That ought to do it.”
Chapter The Second Be Here