Konstantine
Title: Konstantine
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: R
Summary: He wants absolutely nothing to do with this right now, he wants his socks and his music and the entire bed.
He knows, with every moment of experience learned by staying out too late and drinking too much and not caring that he couldn’t remember the hours between midnight and two in the morning and with every brick stacked tightly with another to form the tangibly invisible wall that’s protected him for so long, that he should shut the door and lock it and turn away and put on noise-canceling headphones and listen to The Clash and be able to truthfully say that he didn’t hear her fists pounding desperately on his door or her frantic calls from a dying cell phone.
He steps aside silently and tries to remember all the wisdom imparted to him by his therapist about distance and moderation and how the reason he shouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest isn’t because water is dripping from the ends of her hair and his shirt might get wet.
To his surprise, she isn’t crying. She’s simply shivering and shaking in his arms and he thinks that the shivering has something to do with the cold and the rain but he’s certain that the shaking has something to do with the absolute fear he saw in her eyes when she looked over his shoulder and saw the one person she wanted to see most. He leads her away from the door and toward his bedroom where he knows for a fact that there’s a clean shirt and a pair of clean sweatpants on the floor because he hasn’t put away his laundry yet. His heart lifts a little as he watches her stand and change on her own and pull her wet hair up into a ponytail with a rubber band she spies on his dresser and he thinks that maybe the next weeks won’t be as bad as he’d anticipated as he raced down the stairs and out into the rain with only one sock on and his shoes untied.
“You okay?”
“It had to happen, I guess.”
“You look like shit.”
“I don’t feel particularly great, either.”
She darts her eyes away from his for an instant, just down to the floor and back up again as if needing a break from looking at and thinking about something that’s going to be more difficult to forget about in the morning. She answers his unspoken question about her husband with a shrug and two simple words, determined to put off facing the past few hours until sunlight burns away the last of the rain and she’s had a decent shower and scrubbed off the smudged streaks of eyeliner and swallowed at least four aspirin.
“It was a bad idea.”
“And we won’t have a repeat.”
“Are you hoping -”
“Don’t. Don’t go there.”
“He wasn’t -”
“Stop. I know he’s not coming back.”
“Then -”
“I’m sleeping on your couch.”
“I’ll get you a pillow.”
“Thanks.”
He stares at the ceiling at four in the morning, unable to sleep and deciding it too late to take one of the sleeping pills he’s trying not to need, and knows from the occasional shifting sounds coming from the living room couch that she isn’t asleep either. He stands up with a sigh and curses silently as his bare feet touch the wood floor in the kitchen and wishes that he had turn her away so he could have worn socks to bed without feeling silly. She stills her movements as he gets closer to the couch and he rolls his eyes as she pretends to wake up when he gently shakes her shoulder.
“The couch sucks. Come to bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“I was asleep.”
“No one wakes up like cartoons do. Come to bed.”
“Mark.”
“Addison.”
“Fine. Sleeping.”
“I didn’t say anything about anything else.”
He follows her to his bedroom so it doesn’t look like he’s leading her there and lets her lie down and arrange the pillows and tug the covers up around her just the way she wants before he even sits on the edge of the bed. Sliding in underneath the few inches of blankets she’s left him, he’s careful to leave space between them and sleep with his back to her. He wants absolutely nothing to do with this right now, he wants his socks and his music and the entire bed, but he opened the door and let her in and he figures that allowing her to sleep in his bed and force him to freeze is a small price to pay for screwing up her life.
“You okay?”
“I’m sleeping.”
“I’m here if you wake up and decide you’re not.”
“I’ll decide whether I’m okay in the morning. Right now, you’re talking and I’m asleep.”
“Offer stands for the morning, too.”
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: R
Summary: He wants absolutely nothing to do with this right now, he wants his socks and his music and the entire bed.
He knows, with every moment of experience learned by staying out too late and drinking too much and not caring that he couldn’t remember the hours between midnight and two in the morning and with every brick stacked tightly with another to form the tangibly invisible wall that’s protected him for so long, that he should shut the door and lock it and turn away and put on noise-canceling headphones and listen to The Clash and be able to truthfully say that he didn’t hear her fists pounding desperately on his door or her frantic calls from a dying cell phone.
He steps aside silently and tries to remember all the wisdom imparted to him by his therapist about distance and moderation and how the reason he shouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest isn’t because water is dripping from the ends of her hair and his shirt might get wet.
To his surprise, she isn’t crying. She’s simply shivering and shaking in his arms and he thinks that the shivering has something to do with the cold and the rain but he’s certain that the shaking has something to do with the absolute fear he saw in her eyes when she looked over his shoulder and saw the one person she wanted to see most. He leads her away from the door and toward his bedroom where he knows for a fact that there’s a clean shirt and a pair of clean sweatpants on the floor because he hasn’t put away his laundry yet. His heart lifts a little as he watches her stand and change on her own and pull her wet hair up into a ponytail with a rubber band she spies on his dresser and he thinks that maybe the next weeks won’t be as bad as he’d anticipated as he raced down the stairs and out into the rain with only one sock on and his shoes untied.
“You okay?”
“It had to happen, I guess.”
“You look like shit.”
“I don’t feel particularly great, either.”
She darts her eyes away from his for an instant, just down to the floor and back up again as if needing a break from looking at and thinking about something that’s going to be more difficult to forget about in the morning. She answers his unspoken question about her husband with a shrug and two simple words, determined to put off facing the past few hours until sunlight burns away the last of the rain and she’s had a decent shower and scrubbed off the smudged streaks of eyeliner and swallowed at least four aspirin.
“It was a bad idea.”
“And we won’t have a repeat.”
“Are you hoping -”
“Don’t. Don’t go there.”
“He wasn’t -”
“Stop. I know he’s not coming back.”
“Then -”
“I’m sleeping on your couch.”
“I’ll get you a pillow.”
“Thanks.”
He stares at the ceiling at four in the morning, unable to sleep and deciding it too late to take one of the sleeping pills he’s trying not to need, and knows from the occasional shifting sounds coming from the living room couch that she isn’t asleep either. He stands up with a sigh and curses silently as his bare feet touch the wood floor in the kitchen and wishes that he had turn her away so he could have worn socks to bed without feeling silly. She stills her movements as he gets closer to the couch and he rolls his eyes as she pretends to wake up when he gently shakes her shoulder.
“The couch sucks. Come to bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“I was asleep.”
“No one wakes up like cartoons do. Come to bed.”
“Mark.”
“Addison.”
“Fine. Sleeping.”
“I didn’t say anything about anything else.”
He follows her to his bedroom so it doesn’t look like he’s leading her there and lets her lie down and arrange the pillows and tug the covers up around her just the way she wants before he even sits on the edge of the bed. Sliding in underneath the few inches of blankets she’s left him, he’s careful to leave space between them and sleep with his back to her. He wants absolutely nothing to do with this right now, he wants his socks and his music and the entire bed, but he opened the door and let her in and he figures that allowing her to sleep in his bed and force him to freeze is a small price to pay for screwing up her life.
“You okay?”
“I’m sleeping.”
“I’m here if you wake up and decide you’re not.”
“I’ll decide whether I’m okay in the morning. Right now, you’re talking and I’m asleep.”
“Offer stands for the morning, too.”