grey's anatomy fanfiction, mark/addison, derek, amelia - we are all museums of fear [1/12].
We Are All Museums Of Fear: Prologue.
Author's Notes: After Amelia experiences a personal and medical crisis, Addison, Derek and Mark try to help her recover, even if that means following her to a jungle in the middle of Central America. (Set post-Season 7 Grey's Anatomy and post Season 4 Private Practice. AU from that point.)
the only solace left to us is to hide
alone in the middle of night in some deserted
place.
-- from Poem for Nobody by Charles Bukowski.
Prologue.
Even in the pale light cast by a setting sun, the jungle was hot, languid, sticky. She could feel it on her skin. The day had been long, though not as long as the one that preceded it. It had been almost a week since they'd left the States and her forty-year-old body was starting to protest the somewhat makeshift sleeping arrangement. She let one hand kneed into her neck. At least today she had managed to avoid performing an emergency surgery in an unsterile environment. At least today, nobody had been shot. Funny, how perspective could shift. The concerns of her Los Angeles persona seemed quite trivial now.
She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. They had risen with the sun, which after twelve hours of summer glare, had finally slipped beyond the horizon. Twelve hours of daylight meant nearly twelve hours of work, which was as gratifying as it was exhausting. She'd seen more patients that day than she'd seen in the past month at Oceanside, and yet, their stories resonated with her more. There was the mother who had walked from a property on the outskirts of town for hours to get her sick son looked at. There were two smiling twin boys who had cried when she gave them their immunisations. There was the sixteen-year-old Mayan girl who was pregnant. She remembered their faces, even when she couldn't remember their names.
There was one patient in particular that was occupying her thoughts though; the day old baby boy, who had maintained his healthy flush after she had administered morphine and phenylephrine. He was motherless and his heart murmured at her, loudly and clearly pronouncing a congenital heart defect; pulmonary stenosis and a ventricular-septal defect at least. He needed surgery, but their supplies were growing pitiful and she couldn't bring herself to cut open the chest of a newborn without any imaging to guide her. She sighed and let her legs hang over the branch she was perched on, into the river.
She bent and cupped her hands, splashing water in her face in an attempt to wash the day off. It was welcome and cool against her cheeks, sliding down her neck to sink into the neck of her tank top, saturating the fabric between her breasts. She licked it off her lips, mingled with sweat and sunscreen.
She felt his presence before she turned to find him watching her. He was standing on the bank, contemplative, one boot braced against the branch. When he caught her eye he smiled. She raised one hand, pale skin purple in the dying light and motioned for him to join her. "Come on then."
He unlaced the shoes and kicked them off, rolling his jeans up to his knees. "Are you sure we won't be dinner for some kind of aquatic carnivore?"
"It's not the Amazon Mark," she patted the weathered bark of the tree. "And I read something in one of the guidebooks about the Mexican crocodile being critically endangered."
He made a face at that thought, but teetered out and crouched beside her, letting his own legs wade beside hers in the currents. "It's still hot as hell; I almost don't care if I lose a limb." His eyes wandered over her wet upper body. He was subtle in his appreciation. "Does that help any?"
She shrugged. "Some. See for yourself," she scooped up a handful of water and flung it in his face. Instead of retaliating though, he breathed a sigh of momentary relief and bent at the waist, letting her slosh water over his head with her feet. Righting himself, and shaking his head like a dog, he let his hand bump against her thigh, "Thanks."
She shivered as his pinky skimmed over the hem of her shorts and met skin. "No problem. How's World War Three progressing?"
"Derek and Amelia? I think they've called some kind of truce," he ran a hand through his wet hair. "They disappeared after you did, walked off somewhere. You're all going to get yourselves killed of course; it's getting far too dark to wander around in this shithole."
She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't be precious, princess."
"I'm serious Addison. Have you seen the undergrowth?" he slapped at a mosquito on her shoulder. The sting of his hand made her suck in a breath; it reminded her of sex and the exhilarating thrill of pain. He'd always pushed her boundaries. He dipped his hand in the water and wiped it against his jeans. "I think you'd break an ankle during the day if you weren't careful."
"You worry too much," she curled her hands around the branch and let her weight fall back, hair trailing behind her, swinging against the arc of her spine.
"California has made you relaxed," he observed. It was meant as a rejoinder, but it lacked punch.
She let her foot slip against his calf beneath the water, "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he shook his head. "I like you this way."
Around them, the squalling birds and soft rustle of leaves that punctuated the jungle by day had given way to a cacophony of insects, buzzing and chirping in the night air. Between that and the hush of running water, she felt a part of something much bigger than just the two of them, a kind of energy humming around them, between them, over them. He leant into her shoulder. "What are you thinking?"
She felt a blush creep into her cheeks and was thankful the moon was still too low to provide real light.
He read her silence though, and reached out to catch her chin between his fingers. They danced along her jaw, guiding her face towards his. She wet her lips but shook her head, just slightly, so he stopped just short of kissing her. Their noses bumped together.
"Why?" he asked her, the words a warm rush of air against her cheeks.
"Mark," she whispered, "I'm in love with Sam."
"So?" he whispered back, "I'm in love with Lexie."
As soon as he said it, she closed the distance between their mouths, breathing into the kiss. His tongue was pliant against hers, but he still kissed her back, in a familiar tug-of-war they had long ago perfected. It grew more insistent. His hand tangled in her hair just behind her ear, fist nudging her jaw. She leant her weight against him, reaching up to twine one hand in his shirt. It ended with them both breathless, chests heaving. He let his mouth drop to her shoulder.
"Tell me all the reasons this is a terrible idea," she lamented, quietly, as his tongue drew a lazy circle.
"You taste like sunscreen and insect repellent," he murmured. "But that's the best I've got."
One of his hands was suddenly between her legs, the back of his palm glancing against her thighs. She shivered. "I'm serious."
"Are you still with Sam?" he made a token effort. His fingers were tracing the skin where her thighs met her body, coming dangerously close to the seam of her underwear. She let her teeth sink into her lip.
"It's complicated," she managed to stammer. His teeth sank into her clavicle and the breath she had been holding shook free. "I'm not entirely sure where we stand. Are you with Lexie?"
His mouth shuddered into her neck with a hollow laugh. He dropped a light kiss against her pulse and sat upright, hand stilling. He left it resting on her leg though. "No. We haven't been together since before Sofia was born. Nothing different on that score. Look, I won't lie to you, I'm not looking to start something. I just... being here, with you," he looked at her, helpless, searching for words. He fisted his hand around the seam of her denim cut-offs.
She covered it with her own, sliding her fingers between his knuckles, "I know what you mean."
She let her head slip against his shoulder, closed her eyes for a minute. He uncurled his fist and gripped her fingers.
"You were right you know," she said, "Back in Seattle, after I left Derek. We were good together."
"Still are," he let his chin rest atop her head. "And I'm sure we still could be, sexually speaking."
She snorted. "Only you Mark. We were having a moment."
She pulled back to look at him. His eyes were twinkling with mischief. "Who says we're not still?"
"You sullied it with your lustful thoughts," she was smirking. He was smirking back.
"Maybe," he leant forward, inches from her face. "But you enjoyed it," he challenged.
She quirked an eyebrow but he kissed her before she could answer him, fierce and hot, and the force of it caused her to grip the branch tightly with her free hand. He was crowding her with his body, his hand reached across and slid along her abdomen, along the cage of her ribs to the swell of her chest. She hummed appreciation into the kiss, nails digging into the hand he was holding, toes flexing in the water. He breathed over her mouth, "See? Still great."
Suddenly, feeling an impulse, she let her weight slide from the branch into the water, tugging on his hand until he lost his balance and fell in after her. He shrieked rather girlishly and she grinned, submerging herself in the river. When she re-surfaced, he was treading water beside her. She swam closer and pressed her wet mouth against his. "You're right," she murmured seductively, licking droplets from his chin, his stubble scratchy beneath her tongue, "Still great."
Her shirt hitched towards her shoulders. He let a hand curl around her naked torso and pressed her up against the branch. It braced her scapulae. She felt him kick out to stay afloat, hands pressing roughly into her body, and tipped her head back to stare at the bright light of the stars, winking down from beneath the canopy. His mouth tugged at her earlobe, "What are you thinking?"
She brought her hand to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth. "The sky is so clear here. Everything is."
When he kissed her, she let her eyes slip closed.
Author's Notes: After Amelia experiences a personal and medical crisis, Addison, Derek and Mark try to help her recover, even if that means following her to a jungle in the middle of Central America. (Set post-Season 7 Grey's Anatomy and post Season 4 Private Practice. AU from that point.)
the only solace left to us is to hide
alone in the middle of night in some deserted
place.
-- from Poem for Nobody by Charles Bukowski.
Prologue.
Even in the pale light cast by a setting sun, the jungle was hot, languid, sticky. She could feel it on her skin. The day had been long, though not as long as the one that preceded it. It had been almost a week since they'd left the States and her forty-year-old body was starting to protest the somewhat makeshift sleeping arrangement. She let one hand kneed into her neck. At least today she had managed to avoid performing an emergency surgery in an unsterile environment. At least today, nobody had been shot. Funny, how perspective could shift. The concerns of her Los Angeles persona seemed quite trivial now.
She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. They had risen with the sun, which after twelve hours of summer glare, had finally slipped beyond the horizon. Twelve hours of daylight meant nearly twelve hours of work, which was as gratifying as it was exhausting. She'd seen more patients that day than she'd seen in the past month at Oceanside, and yet, their stories resonated with her more. There was the mother who had walked from a property on the outskirts of town for hours to get her sick son looked at. There were two smiling twin boys who had cried when she gave them their immunisations. There was the sixteen-year-old Mayan girl who was pregnant. She remembered their faces, even when she couldn't remember their names.
There was one patient in particular that was occupying her thoughts though; the day old baby boy, who had maintained his healthy flush after she had administered morphine and phenylephrine. He was motherless and his heart murmured at her, loudly and clearly pronouncing a congenital heart defect; pulmonary stenosis and a ventricular-septal defect at least. He needed surgery, but their supplies were growing pitiful and she couldn't bring herself to cut open the chest of a newborn without any imaging to guide her. She sighed and let her legs hang over the branch she was perched on, into the river.
She bent and cupped her hands, splashing water in her face in an attempt to wash the day off. It was welcome and cool against her cheeks, sliding down her neck to sink into the neck of her tank top, saturating the fabric between her breasts. She licked it off her lips, mingled with sweat and sunscreen.
She felt his presence before she turned to find him watching her. He was standing on the bank, contemplative, one boot braced against the branch. When he caught her eye he smiled. She raised one hand, pale skin purple in the dying light and motioned for him to join her. "Come on then."
He unlaced the shoes and kicked them off, rolling his jeans up to his knees. "Are you sure we won't be dinner for some kind of aquatic carnivore?"
"It's not the Amazon Mark," she patted the weathered bark of the tree. "And I read something in one of the guidebooks about the Mexican crocodile being critically endangered."
He made a face at that thought, but teetered out and crouched beside her, letting his own legs wade beside hers in the currents. "It's still hot as hell; I almost don't care if I lose a limb." His eyes wandered over her wet upper body. He was subtle in his appreciation. "Does that help any?"
She shrugged. "Some. See for yourself," she scooped up a handful of water and flung it in his face. Instead of retaliating though, he breathed a sigh of momentary relief and bent at the waist, letting her slosh water over his head with her feet. Righting himself, and shaking his head like a dog, he let his hand bump against her thigh, "Thanks."
She shivered as his pinky skimmed over the hem of her shorts and met skin. "No problem. How's World War Three progressing?"
"Derek and Amelia? I think they've called some kind of truce," he ran a hand through his wet hair. "They disappeared after you did, walked off somewhere. You're all going to get yourselves killed of course; it's getting far too dark to wander around in this shithole."
She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't be precious, princess."
"I'm serious Addison. Have you seen the undergrowth?" he slapped at a mosquito on her shoulder. The sting of his hand made her suck in a breath; it reminded her of sex and the exhilarating thrill of pain. He'd always pushed her boundaries. He dipped his hand in the water and wiped it against his jeans. "I think you'd break an ankle during the day if you weren't careful."
"You worry too much," she curled her hands around the branch and let her weight fall back, hair trailing behind her, swinging against the arc of her spine.
"California has made you relaxed," he observed. It was meant as a rejoinder, but it lacked punch.
She let her foot slip against his calf beneath the water, "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he shook his head. "I like you this way."
Around them, the squalling birds and soft rustle of leaves that punctuated the jungle by day had given way to a cacophony of insects, buzzing and chirping in the night air. Between that and the hush of running water, she felt a part of something much bigger than just the two of them, a kind of energy humming around them, between them, over them. He leant into her shoulder. "What are you thinking?"
She felt a blush creep into her cheeks and was thankful the moon was still too low to provide real light.
He read her silence though, and reached out to catch her chin between his fingers. They danced along her jaw, guiding her face towards his. She wet her lips but shook her head, just slightly, so he stopped just short of kissing her. Their noses bumped together.
"Why?" he asked her, the words a warm rush of air against her cheeks.
"Mark," she whispered, "I'm in love with Sam."
"So?" he whispered back, "I'm in love with Lexie."
As soon as he said it, she closed the distance between their mouths, breathing into the kiss. His tongue was pliant against hers, but he still kissed her back, in a familiar tug-of-war they had long ago perfected. It grew more insistent. His hand tangled in her hair just behind her ear, fist nudging her jaw. She leant her weight against him, reaching up to twine one hand in his shirt. It ended with them both breathless, chests heaving. He let his mouth drop to her shoulder.
"Tell me all the reasons this is a terrible idea," she lamented, quietly, as his tongue drew a lazy circle.
"You taste like sunscreen and insect repellent," he murmured. "But that's the best I've got."
One of his hands was suddenly between her legs, the back of his palm glancing against her thighs. She shivered. "I'm serious."
"Are you still with Sam?" he made a token effort. His fingers were tracing the skin where her thighs met her body, coming dangerously close to the seam of her underwear. She let her teeth sink into her lip.
"It's complicated," she managed to stammer. His teeth sank into her clavicle and the breath she had been holding shook free. "I'm not entirely sure where we stand. Are you with Lexie?"
His mouth shuddered into her neck with a hollow laugh. He dropped a light kiss against her pulse and sat upright, hand stilling. He left it resting on her leg though. "No. We haven't been together since before Sofia was born. Nothing different on that score. Look, I won't lie to you, I'm not looking to start something. I just... being here, with you," he looked at her, helpless, searching for words. He fisted his hand around the seam of her denim cut-offs.
She covered it with her own, sliding her fingers between his knuckles, "I know what you mean."
She let her head slip against his shoulder, closed her eyes for a minute. He uncurled his fist and gripped her fingers.
"You were right you know," she said, "Back in Seattle, after I left Derek. We were good together."
"Still are," he let his chin rest atop her head. "And I'm sure we still could be, sexually speaking."
She snorted. "Only you Mark. We were having a moment."
She pulled back to look at him. His eyes were twinkling with mischief. "Who says we're not still?"
"You sullied it with your lustful thoughts," she was smirking. He was smirking back.
"Maybe," he leant forward, inches from her face. "But you enjoyed it," he challenged.
She quirked an eyebrow but he kissed her before she could answer him, fierce and hot, and the force of it caused her to grip the branch tightly with her free hand. He was crowding her with his body, his hand reached across and slid along her abdomen, along the cage of her ribs to the swell of her chest. She hummed appreciation into the kiss, nails digging into the hand he was holding, toes flexing in the water. He breathed over her mouth, "See? Still great."
Suddenly, feeling an impulse, she let her weight slide from the branch into the water, tugging on his hand until he lost his balance and fell in after her. He shrieked rather girlishly and she grinned, submerging herself in the river. When she re-surfaced, he was treading water beside her. She swam closer and pressed her wet mouth against his. "You're right," she murmured seductively, licking droplets from his chin, his stubble scratchy beneath her tongue, "Still great."
Her shirt hitched towards her shoulders. He let a hand curl around her naked torso and pressed her up against the branch. It braced her scapulae. She felt him kick out to stay afloat, hands pressing roughly into her body, and tipped her head back to stare at the bright light of the stars, winking down from beneath the canopy. His mouth tugged at her earlobe, "What are you thinking?"
She brought her hand to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth. "The sky is so clear here. Everything is."
When he kissed her, she let her eyes slip closed.