CrapFic Post: Sleepy Morning Walk
Took this down from ff.net two hours after posting (04/20/07), because it's pointless and I can't remember why I wrote it. *shrug* Here for my own records, as a reminder of why I should think before pressing the "submit" button. (And I suppose, if the unthinkable happens and someone stumbles upon it, here for the morbidly curious.)
Title: Sleepy Morning Walk
Author: great_gomerel.
Pairing: Addison/Alex.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 1621
Summary: Pastries and fresh air in the morning make for a good day’s start. Alex/Addison. Drabble. Post 3x20.
(I’ve got my dream trumpet pressed against Alex’s ear, and I’ll blow whatever I like into it. Out of character. Plot-free, unstructured fluff. Saccharine, depth-free, and without snark.)
-----
Alex pauses outside the bar. He doesn’t really feel like going in, today, but he’s been on autopilot for the past hour, and his feet bore him here unthinkingly. He feels like crap. And today, alcohol isn’t the answer to that. But something makes him peer inside the window. Then he grins.
Addison is dancing between the tables with Dr. Richard Webber. Now that’s hilarious. Unexpected, too, and possibly out of character. But at the same time, it seems just like her. Something she would do. He’s seen Sloan hovering around the Chief all day, trying to help him leave his shell. Well, Addison’s got something the plastic surgeon hasn’t-boobs and a skirt (plus she’s hot). And the Chief looks like a free man, now. It’s obvious she’s the one that’s done that.
She’s hot, and an entertaining dancer. She’s not graceful really; she’s too enthusiastic and wriggly and bouncy for that. But she’s clearly having fun, and it looks like fun is catching. He watches as the Chief spins and dips her once again. Their smiles are almost ridiculous. The next idea catches him off-guard: he wants to make her smile like that. And his head’s full of visions of what it’d be like to march in, right now, and take her from the older man. It’s screwed-up-he hates dancing-but his mind’s not acting normal at the moment.
He’ll tap her on the shoulder and ask the Chief if he can steal her. Yeah, like that would ever happen. You can’t dance worth crap, you moron. Well, shut up, this is his daydream and he’ll dance like a pro if he wants to. Anyway, he’ll twirl her around and she’ll smile at him in that quirky, lopsided way she has. And he’ll know he’s the reason that she’s having a good time.
Because really, that’s what it’s about. He’s not the stupid “hold her in your arms” sort of guy, or (in this case at least), the “feel her up on the dance floor” dirty kind. He just figures there’d be something nice about being the one who gets to claim he’s made a woman like that feel good about herself for a while. If she moves in closer and rests her cheek on his shoulder or lets her face brush his? That’s just bonus. It’s not what he’s after.
He’s maybe a little too down to pull it off tonight. He’s a slick dude, when he wants to be, but it takes a certain mood to do it. So he doesn’t go into Joe’s; he just heads home.
Maybe some other time.
-----
Alex is perplexed to find himself standing outside Addison’s door at 5:15 in the morning. He hasn’t had coffee yet, and it made sense on the way over, but he’s waking up now and he doesn’t remember how it did. But he’s had a rough night, and both Meredith and Izzie tend to be even crankier than he is, at this hour. He just wants to talk to someone, damn it. And he doesn’t think they’ll be much help just now.
He heard Addison giving Callie her room number several weeks ago. He’s surprised that he remembers, though. Numbers were never his strong suit. But this one stuck with him, somehow.
So, uh, here he is. Which makes no sense at all. Except that she knows about Ava, and she’ll get why what he had to do last night was hard, and when she can’t say something helpful she usually shuts up and just sticks around. She gets the need for silence; that’s a plus. But he’s not ready to ask, yet, and he panics a little when he realizes he’s already knocked. That’s done; oh well.
The door opens, and he takes in a breath. She’s dressed already, for which he’s infinitely thankful. He’s not sure what he’d have done if she’d opened the door in pajamas. That might have been too much.
“I thought,” he stammers out, “if you think we count as friends and stuff, that maybe we could take a walk.” Well, that was dumb. Quick, offer sugar. He holds the pastries out. “Do Danishes help?”
He just needs a little human conversation. How does he explain that? What made him think he had the right to ask, anyhow? He waits for her to glare at him or give him a lecture on proper boundaries. But though she’s clearly surprised, she says nothing and seems to take it in a stride. She steps aside to let him in.
“Give me a second; let me grab a coat. But I have to say, one of those Danishes had better have raspberry sauce on it.” As she rummages through the closet, she adds, “Oh, and by the way? Good morning to you, too, and thanks for asking, I’m very well.” He snorts. Yeah, whatever, Miss Manners.
It’s weird, being here, right in the place where she sleeps. There’s the bed-unmade, with all the signs that she’s been lying on it. Several blouses in different styles and colors are thrown onto it; someone had problems figuring out what to wear. The TV is tuned to BBC News. (Sam Mendes is filming a new version of Middlemarch.)
Minutes later, out on the pavement, she’s stuffing her face with food, which makes it easy for him to talk. He tells her about the stuff Ava said. About the cowardly fake mom and the delusional dad. He doesn’t say it makes him sad. But she gets why he came looking for her now. He’s not ready to face Ava again; he’s worried that he’s gotten too attached. She promises to be there when he has to take the step.
He’s not alone. He thinks he kind of likes that.
As the sun comes up, his spirits seem to rise as well. At the moment, she’s telling him about mornings in the wilderness outside the trailer. Fresh air, the trees, the smell after the rain of rich, wet earth. Not that she’s not happy to return to civilization. But Derek’s flannel-man home? Wasn’t always so bad. They walk in search of a scrap of park. The artificially planted strip outside the Archfield doesn’t count; she wants to see real trees and flowers.
A cold blast hits them as they pass a wind tunnel; she takes his arm and presses up against him. She’s not leaning her weight on him: more like using him to block the wind. And to steal a little warmth. She feels good there.
When they’ve nearly circled back, he pictures her as she was last night and laughs. Because he didn’t get to dance with her then, but she’s here with him right now. And he’s got this growing hope that when it comes to the dancing thing, he’ll eventually have another chance to ask.
He throws the admission that he watched her out, without fanfare. “You’re an alright dancer, you know.” Oh God. She hadn’t seen him there last night.
“You saw that?” She’s not looking at him; it’s kind of cute that she’s self-conscious about it. She’s got nothing to be ashamed of that he can tell. He thinks it’s nice that she wanted to make a lonely old guy feel better.
“The chief looked like he was having a good time. Guess it’s been awhile since he had a hot chick in his arms.”
That helps her recover herself. She smirks. “So I’m a ‘hot chick,’ now?” He rolls his eyes at her. She already knows what he thinks about that.
“Whatever, dude. So, you like to make people happy. It’s your thing. I happen to like that about you.” She bows her head and stares at her toes. She takes compliments better than he does, but they still embarrass her a little. He always does that when she least expects it. Not that she objects to it at all.
“Well,” she offers boldly, “you seem to try to make me happy.” Oops. Guess she’s found him out. “So I guess I like that about you, too.” She winks, and he grins back.
Randomly, he recalls that he still feels bad about the stuff he said in the closet. He didn’t mean to make her feel unwanted. It didn’t last, but well-he made her feel bad for a bit, and that was kind of ass-y of him. Now seems as good a time as any to put the sorry out there. “Hey, you get that if you weren’t my boss I’d totally dig you, right?”
It sounds random and unprompted to her ears. But she’s not about to object; no, not at all. Impulsively, she takes his hand and reaches up to kiss him. It’s a quick peck on the lips, nothing fancy. She’s just acknowledging the sentiment, no more.
“Well, if I weren’t your boss I wouldn’t have stopped just now.” Her cheeks look a little pink, but that could be the orange light of dawn.
They can’t now. But who can predict the future? “Maybe later,” he suggests.
She likes that. Later is way better than never. “Yeah. Some other time.”
“If we’re both still single and around….” He lets the thought trail off. Just putting it out there.
“You’ll know where to find me,” she finishes for him. Whatever may come, he’s earned the right to her forwarding address. She lets go of his hand and turns to head inside.
Standing in the doorway, she glances back and waves a little. He waves back and calls out, “See you at work in an hour.” She disappears. He stands there smiling. They’ll meet again soon.
Maybe he and the redhead aren’t so “complicated,” after all.
-----
A/N: The title should make the source of this obvious: it’s all that stupid dancing scene’s fault. I hate reading pointless fluff. I doubly hate writing pointless fluff. But I was just in an irrationally exuberant mood after the 1:04 of Addie/Chief cuteness, and this was the result. Sorry if I hurt your teeth. But you were warned.
Title: Sleepy Morning Walk
Author: great_gomerel.
Pairing: Addison/Alex.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 1621
Summary: Pastries and fresh air in the morning make for a good day’s start. Alex/Addison. Drabble. Post 3x20.
(I’ve got my dream trumpet pressed against Alex’s ear, and I’ll blow whatever I like into it. Out of character. Plot-free, unstructured fluff. Saccharine, depth-free, and without snark.)
-----
Alex pauses outside the bar. He doesn’t really feel like going in, today, but he’s been on autopilot for the past hour, and his feet bore him here unthinkingly. He feels like crap. And today, alcohol isn’t the answer to that. But something makes him peer inside the window. Then he grins.
Addison is dancing between the tables with Dr. Richard Webber. Now that’s hilarious. Unexpected, too, and possibly out of character. But at the same time, it seems just like her. Something she would do. He’s seen Sloan hovering around the Chief all day, trying to help him leave his shell. Well, Addison’s got something the plastic surgeon hasn’t-boobs and a skirt (plus she’s hot). And the Chief looks like a free man, now. It’s obvious she’s the one that’s done that.
She’s hot, and an entertaining dancer. She’s not graceful really; she’s too enthusiastic and wriggly and bouncy for that. But she’s clearly having fun, and it looks like fun is catching. He watches as the Chief spins and dips her once again. Their smiles are almost ridiculous. The next idea catches him off-guard: he wants to make her smile like that. And his head’s full of visions of what it’d be like to march in, right now, and take her from the older man. It’s screwed-up-he hates dancing-but his mind’s not acting normal at the moment.
He’ll tap her on the shoulder and ask the Chief if he can steal her. Yeah, like that would ever happen. You can’t dance worth crap, you moron. Well, shut up, this is his daydream and he’ll dance like a pro if he wants to. Anyway, he’ll twirl her around and she’ll smile at him in that quirky, lopsided way she has. And he’ll know he’s the reason that she’s having a good time.
Because really, that’s what it’s about. He’s not the stupid “hold her in your arms” sort of guy, or (in this case at least), the “feel her up on the dance floor” dirty kind. He just figures there’d be something nice about being the one who gets to claim he’s made a woman like that feel good about herself for a while. If she moves in closer and rests her cheek on his shoulder or lets her face brush his? That’s just bonus. It’s not what he’s after.
He’s maybe a little too down to pull it off tonight. He’s a slick dude, when he wants to be, but it takes a certain mood to do it. So he doesn’t go into Joe’s; he just heads home.
Maybe some other time.
-----
Alex is perplexed to find himself standing outside Addison’s door at 5:15 in the morning. He hasn’t had coffee yet, and it made sense on the way over, but he’s waking up now and he doesn’t remember how it did. But he’s had a rough night, and both Meredith and Izzie tend to be even crankier than he is, at this hour. He just wants to talk to someone, damn it. And he doesn’t think they’ll be much help just now.
He heard Addison giving Callie her room number several weeks ago. He’s surprised that he remembers, though. Numbers were never his strong suit. But this one stuck with him, somehow.
So, uh, here he is. Which makes no sense at all. Except that she knows about Ava, and she’ll get why what he had to do last night was hard, and when she can’t say something helpful she usually shuts up and just sticks around. She gets the need for silence; that’s a plus. But he’s not ready to ask, yet, and he panics a little when he realizes he’s already knocked. That’s done; oh well.
The door opens, and he takes in a breath. She’s dressed already, for which he’s infinitely thankful. He’s not sure what he’d have done if she’d opened the door in pajamas. That might have been too much.
“I thought,” he stammers out, “if you think we count as friends and stuff, that maybe we could take a walk.” Well, that was dumb. Quick, offer sugar. He holds the pastries out. “Do Danishes help?”
He just needs a little human conversation. How does he explain that? What made him think he had the right to ask, anyhow? He waits for her to glare at him or give him a lecture on proper boundaries. But though she’s clearly surprised, she says nothing and seems to take it in a stride. She steps aside to let him in.
“Give me a second; let me grab a coat. But I have to say, one of those Danishes had better have raspberry sauce on it.” As she rummages through the closet, she adds, “Oh, and by the way? Good morning to you, too, and thanks for asking, I’m very well.” He snorts. Yeah, whatever, Miss Manners.
It’s weird, being here, right in the place where she sleeps. There’s the bed-unmade, with all the signs that she’s been lying on it. Several blouses in different styles and colors are thrown onto it; someone had problems figuring out what to wear. The TV is tuned to BBC News. (Sam Mendes is filming a new version of Middlemarch.)
Minutes later, out on the pavement, she’s stuffing her face with food, which makes it easy for him to talk. He tells her about the stuff Ava said. About the cowardly fake mom and the delusional dad. He doesn’t say it makes him sad. But she gets why he came looking for her now. He’s not ready to face Ava again; he’s worried that he’s gotten too attached. She promises to be there when he has to take the step.
He’s not alone. He thinks he kind of likes that.
As the sun comes up, his spirits seem to rise as well. At the moment, she’s telling him about mornings in the wilderness outside the trailer. Fresh air, the trees, the smell after the rain of rich, wet earth. Not that she’s not happy to return to civilization. But Derek’s flannel-man home? Wasn’t always so bad. They walk in search of a scrap of park. The artificially planted strip outside the Archfield doesn’t count; she wants to see real trees and flowers.
A cold blast hits them as they pass a wind tunnel; she takes his arm and presses up against him. She’s not leaning her weight on him: more like using him to block the wind. And to steal a little warmth. She feels good there.
When they’ve nearly circled back, he pictures her as she was last night and laughs. Because he didn’t get to dance with her then, but she’s here with him right now. And he’s got this growing hope that when it comes to the dancing thing, he’ll eventually have another chance to ask.
He throws the admission that he watched her out, without fanfare. “You’re an alright dancer, you know.” Oh God. She hadn’t seen him there last night.
“You saw that?” She’s not looking at him; it’s kind of cute that she’s self-conscious about it. She’s got nothing to be ashamed of that he can tell. He thinks it’s nice that she wanted to make a lonely old guy feel better.
“The chief looked like he was having a good time. Guess it’s been awhile since he had a hot chick in his arms.”
That helps her recover herself. She smirks. “So I’m a ‘hot chick,’ now?” He rolls his eyes at her. She already knows what he thinks about that.
“Whatever, dude. So, you like to make people happy. It’s your thing. I happen to like that about you.” She bows her head and stares at her toes. She takes compliments better than he does, but they still embarrass her a little. He always does that when she least expects it. Not that she objects to it at all.
“Well,” she offers boldly, “you seem to try to make me happy.” Oops. Guess she’s found him out. “So I guess I like that about you, too.” She winks, and he grins back.
Randomly, he recalls that he still feels bad about the stuff he said in the closet. He didn’t mean to make her feel unwanted. It didn’t last, but well-he made her feel bad for a bit, and that was kind of ass-y of him. Now seems as good a time as any to put the sorry out there. “Hey, you get that if you weren’t my boss I’d totally dig you, right?”
It sounds random and unprompted to her ears. But she’s not about to object; no, not at all. Impulsively, she takes his hand and reaches up to kiss him. It’s a quick peck on the lips, nothing fancy. She’s just acknowledging the sentiment, no more.
“Well, if I weren’t your boss I wouldn’t have stopped just now.” Her cheeks look a little pink, but that could be the orange light of dawn.
They can’t now. But who can predict the future? “Maybe later,” he suggests.
She likes that. Later is way better than never. “Yeah. Some other time.”
“If we’re both still single and around….” He lets the thought trail off. Just putting it out there.
“You’ll know where to find me,” she finishes for him. Whatever may come, he’s earned the right to her forwarding address. She lets go of his hand and turns to head inside.
Standing in the doorway, she glances back and waves a little. He waves back and calls out, “See you at work in an hour.” She disappears. He stands there smiling. They’ll meet again soon.
Maybe he and the redhead aren’t so “complicated,” after all.
-----
A/N: The title should make the source of this obvious: it’s all that stupid dancing scene’s fault. I hate reading pointless fluff. I doubly hate writing pointless fluff. But I was just in an irrationally exuberant mood after the 1:04 of Addie/Chief cuteness, and this was the result. Sorry if I hurt your teeth. But you were warned.