Somersault (Mark/Addison)
Title: Somersault
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: G. Some of the cleanest stuff I’ve ever written. And it’s wicked short.
Summary: At the end of the day, you just want to go home.
Filled for: Calla. Who wanted Mark/Addison “when the calls and conversations, accidents and accusations, messages and misperceptions paralyze my mind…” I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for, buddy, but it’s where my mind went.
You take a moment to breathe. Quiet, even, slow breaths in and out as you sit in your car for a few minutes and let the day go, leaving the chaos of work and the despair of things that went wrong behind before you open the door and step outside and officially call yourself home for the evening.
Home. You never really had a home until you met her. You had your room in your parents’ house, you had the basement in the Shepherd house across the street with its overstuffed couch and TV that filled with static if Nancy stood at the top of the stairs to yell, you had your various dorm rooms and shared housing, and you had your apartment. They were all places to sleep and drink a beer and keep your stuff, but they were never a home. And then she waltzed into your life with her heels and fancy clothing and sparkling smile and infectious laugh and you swore to yourself to protect her from anything she’d let you. Things were a mess for a while, a long while, and you played the third wheel and, eventually, the other man until somehow you became the only man.
“Daddy!”
You hear your three year-old son just instants before he tackles your knees, sprinting at you in a full run as if he last saw you two weeks ago instead of just this morning over Cheerios and the comics page. You shrug the strap of your messenger bag off your shoulder and onto the floor and lift him high into the air above your head, a smile replacing the remnants of the frown your few breaths in your car couldn’t wipe away as he giggles at his newfound height. He squirms a little after several short seconds, deciding that he’s gotten a good enough look at the entire hallway for now, and you bring him back down and wrap your strong arms around him in a warm hug. You hold him a little longer than normal as you whisper that you love him and you missed him today and you open your eyes and look up at the sound of footsteps coming in from the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about.
She smiles at you and you smell a waft of dinner and you fall in love with her just a little more because you know that next to her shrimp curry is a plate of vegetable pakoras you’ll both share and, at your spot at the table, is a plate of chicken vindaloo and that you weren’t hallucinating hopeful thoughts when you saw the delivery van leave your neighborhood just as you turned in. You let go of your son and he sprints off to finish constructing a tower of blocks that he can demolish after dinner with your help.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers as you slip your arms around her waist and bury your face in her shoulder.
It doesn’t surprise you that she’s heard all about your day on her day off, the day that began and ended with two of your favorite patients dying from complications from surgeries that were supposed to allow them to simply smile and, in between, included some people screwing up and other people yelling at and about you. You smile and take a small, shaky breath as she presses a kiss against your temple and slowly rubs your back, stepping into the role you usually play as you take some much needed comfort from her. Though her shower was hours ago with you that morning, you can still smell the shampoo on her hair and the body wash on her neck and her scent brings a smile to your face, finally dissolving the last stressful traces of today.
You softly touch your lips to hers, a quiet and warm hello and a sincere thank you for the hug, but you have to break the kiss sooner than you’d intended in order to laugh at the frustrated shout from the playroom accompanying the telltale clatter of blocks stacked too high. She laughs with you and rests her head on your shoulder for a few seconds and you just hold her, needing to hug her for a few seconds more before you sit down to dinner and listen to whirlwind retellings of epic games of tag and the newest bruises received on the playground and you’re certain that bugs will make their way into the conversation eventually, though you hope somewhere near the end. You stick your head in the playroom door and firmly suggest that he should get up and wash his hands for dinner and you promise that you’ll help him build the biggest fort ever, but after dinner.
Your hand brushes against hers as you both go for the same pakora the moment you sit down and you smile sideways at her and she smiles back, a small and secretive smile missed by the youngest member of the table, and you know that you’re finally home.
Zero 7 :: Somersault
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: G. Some of the cleanest stuff I’ve ever written. And it’s wicked short.
Summary: At the end of the day, you just want to go home.
Filled for: Calla. Who wanted Mark/Addison “when the calls and conversations, accidents and accusations, messages and misperceptions paralyze my mind…” I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for, buddy, but it’s where my mind went.
You take a moment to breathe. Quiet, even, slow breaths in and out as you sit in your car for a few minutes and let the day go, leaving the chaos of work and the despair of things that went wrong behind before you open the door and step outside and officially call yourself home for the evening.
Home. You never really had a home until you met her. You had your room in your parents’ house, you had the basement in the Shepherd house across the street with its overstuffed couch and TV that filled with static if Nancy stood at the top of the stairs to yell, you had your various dorm rooms and shared housing, and you had your apartment. They were all places to sleep and drink a beer and keep your stuff, but they were never a home. And then she waltzed into your life with her heels and fancy clothing and sparkling smile and infectious laugh and you swore to yourself to protect her from anything she’d let you. Things were a mess for a while, a long while, and you played the third wheel and, eventually, the other man until somehow you became the only man.
“Daddy!”
You hear your three year-old son just instants before he tackles your knees, sprinting at you in a full run as if he last saw you two weeks ago instead of just this morning over Cheerios and the comics page. You shrug the strap of your messenger bag off your shoulder and onto the floor and lift him high into the air above your head, a smile replacing the remnants of the frown your few breaths in your car couldn’t wipe away as he giggles at his newfound height. He squirms a little after several short seconds, deciding that he’s gotten a good enough look at the entire hallway for now, and you bring him back down and wrap your strong arms around him in a warm hug. You hold him a little longer than normal as you whisper that you love him and you missed him today and you open your eyes and look up at the sound of footsteps coming in from the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about.
She smiles at you and you smell a waft of dinner and you fall in love with her just a little more because you know that next to her shrimp curry is a plate of vegetable pakoras you’ll both share and, at your spot at the table, is a plate of chicken vindaloo and that you weren’t hallucinating hopeful thoughts when you saw the delivery van leave your neighborhood just as you turned in. You let go of your son and he sprints off to finish constructing a tower of blocks that he can demolish after dinner with your help.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers as you slip your arms around her waist and bury your face in her shoulder.
It doesn’t surprise you that she’s heard all about your day on her day off, the day that began and ended with two of your favorite patients dying from complications from surgeries that were supposed to allow them to simply smile and, in between, included some people screwing up and other people yelling at and about you. You smile and take a small, shaky breath as she presses a kiss against your temple and slowly rubs your back, stepping into the role you usually play as you take some much needed comfort from her. Though her shower was hours ago with you that morning, you can still smell the shampoo on her hair and the body wash on her neck and her scent brings a smile to your face, finally dissolving the last stressful traces of today.
You softly touch your lips to hers, a quiet and warm hello and a sincere thank you for the hug, but you have to break the kiss sooner than you’d intended in order to laugh at the frustrated shout from the playroom accompanying the telltale clatter of blocks stacked too high. She laughs with you and rests her head on your shoulder for a few seconds and you just hold her, needing to hug her for a few seconds more before you sit down to dinner and listen to whirlwind retellings of epic games of tag and the newest bruises received on the playground and you’re certain that bugs will make their way into the conversation eventually, though you hope somewhere near the end. You stick your head in the playroom door and firmly suggest that he should get up and wash his hands for dinner and you promise that you’ll help him build the biggest fort ever, but after dinner.
Your hand brushes against hers as you both go for the same pakora the moment you sit down and you smile sideways at her and she smiles back, a small and secretive smile missed by the youngest member of the table, and you know that you’re finally home.
Zero 7 :: Somersault