Eli's Coming (Addison/people)
Title: Eli's Coming [Three Dog Night version] [Awesome acapella version]
Rating: R. Language.
Pairing: Many
Summary: "What men like that do to women like you…" Angst.
PS: Seriously? Download the song. It makes so much more sense.
Derek.
He first saw her through the window from his seat at the bar. At the beginning of the argument, she was standing just at the edge of the establishment’s main window, almost out of sight. Her arms crossed, glaring holes in the doors of the cars that passed by, internally destroying buildings and bridges. A man had stumbled out into the rain after her and tried to speak to her, gesturing wildly and touching her arm apologetically. They clearly knew each other, but she wouldn’t move, not even to brush him off. Eventually, a cab pulled up in front of them and she pushed him into the backseat and gave the driver an address and a few bills and slammed the door shut. She visibly counted to ten, breathing in and out and staring up at the sky, almost as if she were placing blame.
A seat was suddenly vacated next to him and though she came back into the bar with the intention to pick up her coat, pay a tab and go home to curl under blankets and cuddle into pillows and let the thunder and lightning lull her to sleep, she slid onto the stool and ordered another drink. The bartender smiled sadly at her and told her it was on the house; he had seen the breakup coming long before she did. Normally, she would have argued, but this was not a normal night for her. If it were, she would have taken her coat and left some money and hailed another taxi to take her home.
“What was that about?” He asked quietly after she had a chance to take a few sips of her martini. It was not any of his business, he knew, but he could not help himself. She was beautiful and looked intelligent and he wondered how anyone would act like that toward her.
She looked up, no longer finding fascination in designs on the bar counter, and glanced at him. It took a few minutes in the dim smoky light to find trustworthiness in his face but she found it, and found it strong. A small sarcastic laugh escaped her lips. “That was a bad idea.” She swirled her drink with the toothpick and its olives. “A bad idea that drank too much and drank too often. Didn’t really seem to care about me a whole lot.” Her voice trailed off at the end and she looked down again with the shrug of someone who is used to having bad ideas and always promises herself to do better next time.
The dejection in her words, however quiet they were spoken, was painful and clear and he suddenly found himself with the urge to give her a strong and secure hug, because he knew that not all men were bad ideas. “I’m Derek.”
A wary expression with a hint of a smile came with her acceptance of his handshake. “Addison.”
He nodded, smiling kindly but noticing her apprehension. “I’m not going to try to pick you up, Addison. I’m not going to ask for your phone number or even your last name, unless you want me to. I’m just a guy in a bar who saw someone being treated badly and wants to right that. Because what guys like that do to women like you…it’s not fair.”
Laughing in full, she dropped her head, staring once again into her drink but with a real smile. She pushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear and shook her head in disbelief. Life was beginning to get very strange for her that night for she had never seen such examples of such drastic extremes in such short time. “Alright, Derek. I’ll let you pick me up, and maybe I’ll give you my last name or, if you’re really lucky, I’ll give you my phone number. But if you’re fucking with me,” she grinned, no one ever expected swearing from her, “I am wearing three-inch stilettos.” A wink accompanied the empty threat and it was met with a laugh.
--
Mark.
He watched her weave her way through the surgical floor with outward class and style though he knew inwardly she was about to explode. The clicking of her heels was unmistakable even within the audible chaos and white noise that plagued their work lives. He wanted so badly to follow her outside, to go home with her, to walk her through what would inevitably be another lonely evening. But he was needed elsewhere, needed in ways that were public, needed by others and he knew she could take care of herself for a few hours. Those few hours would be hours she would spend on her own anyway, even if things were good between her and her husband.
Convinced that he would force himself to feel guilty later for unlocking her front door and letting himself in, he softly called her name as he untied his shoes and hung up his coat. He merely heard muffled sniffles coming from the upstairs bedroom. Padding barefoot on the carpeted stairs, he spoke her name again at the top, not wanting to frighten her. The sniffling stopped as he came closer to the open door and he carefully stepped forward into the room, knowing that he was breaking all sorts of rules and boundaries, toying with fate and, perhaps, doom.
She blinked at him from the bed, sitting up against the headboard with a pile of blankets and sheets around her and the pillows thrown angrily on the floor out of sight. Her bloodshot eyes stared at him sadly, silently begging him to come to her, to sit next to her and hold her and make her feel wanted. He granted her wish and climbed into the bed with her and wrapped his arms around her back as she cuddled into him and began to cry uncontrollable sobs of defeat. His lips brushed against her temple in a gesture of comfort and he whispered calming thoughts in her ear until the tears abated and her body settled down. Her breath slowed from frantic to shaky and he felt her muscles relax, exhausted.
“He became one of those guys,” she whispered into his now-soaked shirt, barely audible. She swallowed and nibbled at her lower lip, pushing at her eyes with the palms of her hands to ward off the new flood of tears threatening to escape.
He moved her hands away pushed her hair out of her eyes and tilted her chin up, intending to give her a supporting smile but surprised them both and tenderly kissed her instead. “I know. And what they do to women like you, Addison…you don’t deserve that. You deserve so much more than being left alone every night, than being stood up, than being forgotten. You deserve happiness and noticeable love, not going through a box of tissues every three days.” He carefully shifted so they were lying down, her head on his chest and his arms securely and warmly around her.
Sniffling again, she smiled a smile brought on only by someone saying the right thing at the right time in the right way. “Thank you, Mark.” A brief pause and easy silence before she laughed, quietly and quickly, but she laughed. “Every four days. I’m not that pathetic.”
--
Alex.
He checked the clock on the wall the moment she shut the door of the supply closet and successfully faked understanding and respect for his attending, recognizing that scrubbing in on his surgeries had long been a lost cause. The older man left with clouds of self-importance following him down the hallway, a fitting aura for a surgeon who made pretty people prettier for a living. The minute hand touched the nine, five minutes since the door had closed and he was sure no one had noticed her enter and even more certain no one would notice him follow her, at least not now.
Knocking softly first, pausing politely and inconspicuously before touching the handle, he pushed the door open confidently, feigning professional interest and importance on the closet’s usual contents. He fiddled with the doorknob and locked the door, a trick he discovered accidentally while bored one evening on call. She was silent, but her white lab coat and red hair peeked through the shelves and unopened bottles of iodine. Patiently, he waited for a sign from her that it was okay to navigate the stacks and boxes of gloves and gauze and make his way to her. At her nod, he skirted around tables and unorganized piles on the floor and stood in front of her, concerned.
“What was that?” It was none of his business, he knew, but she had left quickly, a palpable feeling of needing quiet and space filling her absence. Her silence concerned him and he pulled a nearby stool to sit closer to her, watching her eyes not move from their solid stare at her feet. He took her right hand in his and squeezed it gently; it was cold. “Addison…?”
She inhaled deeply as if to find the courage to speak and finally looked up. “The conclusion of nine months of a long story.” Shaking her head, she bit her lip and averted her eyes again. “He wanted it with me. And I wanted it with someone else. I don’t even know why I told him.” She shrugged, the kind that only happens when someone has given up, been defeated and hurt too much too often. “I thought he understood. After a few weeks, he seemed to have calmed down. I guess I was wrong. He never even…never even gave me a chance to explain how hard it was to do.” She searched for a reaction in his face, a reaction to her monologue, to its contents.
He nodded, indicating that he heard her, still processing. “Today was the due date,” he said softly, rhetorically. “Look. I think the guy has a right to be upset. But that doesn’t give him the right to be an ass to you and treat you like that. If he couldn’t be bothered to understand your side, and all he did was sit there and be mad at you, then he’s not worthy of you.” He picked up her other hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. “I’ve seen a lot of bad guys treat a lot of good women badly. And what guys like him can do to women like you, how they can break you and hurt you, it’s…unreal. And I don’t know why they do it, because you’re too good to let go.”
“Karev, don’t fuck with me. I can hold my own against him, I have for years.” She pulled out of his hands and wiped at her eyes, reconstructing her defenses for the sake of propriety and vulnerability.
“Addison.” His voice strong, insistent, not quite demanding, and she tilted her head up. “I don’t know what he said to you, but it sent you nearly sprinting to a supply closet and left him with a smug grin.”
--
Izzie.
“You know what I’m tired of hearing?” She winced, the kind that happens when someone swallows something they think tastes remarkably like acetone, and set the shot glass down on the floor. “Variations of ‘what guys like that do to women like you.’ Because they always, always, become one of those guys in the end. I fucking quit.” She poured another shot and swallowed it, grimacing in disgust and screwing the cap back on to check the electric green price tag on the bottom of the plastic bottle which accurately explained the taste.
“Seriously?” She stole the bottle from the other woman’s grasp and tossed the cap out of the way, giggling when it rolled somewhere in the corner of the room, and took a drink directly from the bottle. “It’s true. No one should ever, ever, treat a woman like you, Addison Montgomery, anything less than perfect.” She blamed her confession on the alcohol, inhibitions had kept her silent until now, until they decided to bond over the lack of redeeming values in the men they worked with.
She laughed and fell back against the side of the bed. “Back at you, Isobel Stevens.” They smiled at each other and their sad eyes met in understanding, changing to curiosity and hope in the sudden promising silence. “We need hugs,” she decided, and tugged the blonde over to her, and they sat, arms around each other in awkward inebriated support until they both felt better.
“Yeah, we did,” her voice turned to a whisper, suddenly forgetting about their original intent for the night and focusing on the look the redhead was giving her. Without thinking, because alcohol did that to her, she leaned forward and kissed her, tasting vodka on her breath and chapstick on her lips and feeling herself brought forward and closer and hands in her hair, her tongue snaking her way into her mouth. She responded in turn and found enough sobriety to pull them both onto the bed.
“Promise me one thing, Izzie,” she said between gasps as they eagerly undressed each other and kissed newly-bare skin. “Promise me that no one will ever say that stupid ‘people like that…’ line about you.”
Hooking her fingers into the straps of the woman’s black thong, she kissed her deeply. “Promise.” And she removed the last article of clothing between the two of them.
Rating: R. Language.
Pairing: Many
Summary: "What men like that do to women like you…" Angst.
PS: Seriously? Download the song. It makes so much more sense.
Derek.
He first saw her through the window from his seat at the bar. At the beginning of the argument, she was standing just at the edge of the establishment’s main window, almost out of sight. Her arms crossed, glaring holes in the doors of the cars that passed by, internally destroying buildings and bridges. A man had stumbled out into the rain after her and tried to speak to her, gesturing wildly and touching her arm apologetically. They clearly knew each other, but she wouldn’t move, not even to brush him off. Eventually, a cab pulled up in front of them and she pushed him into the backseat and gave the driver an address and a few bills and slammed the door shut. She visibly counted to ten, breathing in and out and staring up at the sky, almost as if she were placing blame.
A seat was suddenly vacated next to him and though she came back into the bar with the intention to pick up her coat, pay a tab and go home to curl under blankets and cuddle into pillows and let the thunder and lightning lull her to sleep, she slid onto the stool and ordered another drink. The bartender smiled sadly at her and told her it was on the house; he had seen the breakup coming long before she did. Normally, she would have argued, but this was not a normal night for her. If it were, she would have taken her coat and left some money and hailed another taxi to take her home.
“What was that about?” He asked quietly after she had a chance to take a few sips of her martini. It was not any of his business, he knew, but he could not help himself. She was beautiful and looked intelligent and he wondered how anyone would act like that toward her.
She looked up, no longer finding fascination in designs on the bar counter, and glanced at him. It took a few minutes in the dim smoky light to find trustworthiness in his face but she found it, and found it strong. A small sarcastic laugh escaped her lips. “That was a bad idea.” She swirled her drink with the toothpick and its olives. “A bad idea that drank too much and drank too often. Didn’t really seem to care about me a whole lot.” Her voice trailed off at the end and she looked down again with the shrug of someone who is used to having bad ideas and always promises herself to do better next time.
The dejection in her words, however quiet they were spoken, was painful and clear and he suddenly found himself with the urge to give her a strong and secure hug, because he knew that not all men were bad ideas. “I’m Derek.”
A wary expression with a hint of a smile came with her acceptance of his handshake. “Addison.”
He nodded, smiling kindly but noticing her apprehension. “I’m not going to try to pick you up, Addison. I’m not going to ask for your phone number or even your last name, unless you want me to. I’m just a guy in a bar who saw someone being treated badly and wants to right that. Because what guys like that do to women like you…it’s not fair.”
Laughing in full, she dropped her head, staring once again into her drink but with a real smile. She pushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear and shook her head in disbelief. Life was beginning to get very strange for her that night for she had never seen such examples of such drastic extremes in such short time. “Alright, Derek. I’ll let you pick me up, and maybe I’ll give you my last name or, if you’re really lucky, I’ll give you my phone number. But if you’re fucking with me,” she grinned, no one ever expected swearing from her, “I am wearing three-inch stilettos.” A wink accompanied the empty threat and it was met with a laugh.
--
Mark.
He watched her weave her way through the surgical floor with outward class and style though he knew inwardly she was about to explode. The clicking of her heels was unmistakable even within the audible chaos and white noise that plagued their work lives. He wanted so badly to follow her outside, to go home with her, to walk her through what would inevitably be another lonely evening. But he was needed elsewhere, needed in ways that were public, needed by others and he knew she could take care of herself for a few hours. Those few hours would be hours she would spend on her own anyway, even if things were good between her and her husband.
Convinced that he would force himself to feel guilty later for unlocking her front door and letting himself in, he softly called her name as he untied his shoes and hung up his coat. He merely heard muffled sniffles coming from the upstairs bedroom. Padding barefoot on the carpeted stairs, he spoke her name again at the top, not wanting to frighten her. The sniffling stopped as he came closer to the open door and he carefully stepped forward into the room, knowing that he was breaking all sorts of rules and boundaries, toying with fate and, perhaps, doom.
She blinked at him from the bed, sitting up against the headboard with a pile of blankets and sheets around her and the pillows thrown angrily on the floor out of sight. Her bloodshot eyes stared at him sadly, silently begging him to come to her, to sit next to her and hold her and make her feel wanted. He granted her wish and climbed into the bed with her and wrapped his arms around her back as she cuddled into him and began to cry uncontrollable sobs of defeat. His lips brushed against her temple in a gesture of comfort and he whispered calming thoughts in her ear until the tears abated and her body settled down. Her breath slowed from frantic to shaky and he felt her muscles relax, exhausted.
“He became one of those guys,” she whispered into his now-soaked shirt, barely audible. She swallowed and nibbled at her lower lip, pushing at her eyes with the palms of her hands to ward off the new flood of tears threatening to escape.
He moved her hands away pushed her hair out of her eyes and tilted her chin up, intending to give her a supporting smile but surprised them both and tenderly kissed her instead. “I know. And what they do to women like you, Addison…you don’t deserve that. You deserve so much more than being left alone every night, than being stood up, than being forgotten. You deserve happiness and noticeable love, not going through a box of tissues every three days.” He carefully shifted so they were lying down, her head on his chest and his arms securely and warmly around her.
Sniffling again, she smiled a smile brought on only by someone saying the right thing at the right time in the right way. “Thank you, Mark.” A brief pause and easy silence before she laughed, quietly and quickly, but she laughed. “Every four days. I’m not that pathetic.”
--
Alex.
He checked the clock on the wall the moment she shut the door of the supply closet and successfully faked understanding and respect for his attending, recognizing that scrubbing in on his surgeries had long been a lost cause. The older man left with clouds of self-importance following him down the hallway, a fitting aura for a surgeon who made pretty people prettier for a living. The minute hand touched the nine, five minutes since the door had closed and he was sure no one had noticed her enter and even more certain no one would notice him follow her, at least not now.
Knocking softly first, pausing politely and inconspicuously before touching the handle, he pushed the door open confidently, feigning professional interest and importance on the closet’s usual contents. He fiddled with the doorknob and locked the door, a trick he discovered accidentally while bored one evening on call. She was silent, but her white lab coat and red hair peeked through the shelves and unopened bottles of iodine. Patiently, he waited for a sign from her that it was okay to navigate the stacks and boxes of gloves and gauze and make his way to her. At her nod, he skirted around tables and unorganized piles on the floor and stood in front of her, concerned.
“What was that?” It was none of his business, he knew, but she had left quickly, a palpable feeling of needing quiet and space filling her absence. Her silence concerned him and he pulled a nearby stool to sit closer to her, watching her eyes not move from their solid stare at her feet. He took her right hand in his and squeezed it gently; it was cold. “Addison…?”
She inhaled deeply as if to find the courage to speak and finally looked up. “The conclusion of nine months of a long story.” Shaking her head, she bit her lip and averted her eyes again. “He wanted it with me. And I wanted it with someone else. I don’t even know why I told him.” She shrugged, the kind that only happens when someone has given up, been defeated and hurt too much too often. “I thought he understood. After a few weeks, he seemed to have calmed down. I guess I was wrong. He never even…never even gave me a chance to explain how hard it was to do.” She searched for a reaction in his face, a reaction to her monologue, to its contents.
He nodded, indicating that he heard her, still processing. “Today was the due date,” he said softly, rhetorically. “Look. I think the guy has a right to be upset. But that doesn’t give him the right to be an ass to you and treat you like that. If he couldn’t be bothered to understand your side, and all he did was sit there and be mad at you, then he’s not worthy of you.” He picked up her other hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. “I’ve seen a lot of bad guys treat a lot of good women badly. And what guys like him can do to women like you, how they can break you and hurt you, it’s…unreal. And I don’t know why they do it, because you’re too good to let go.”
“Karev, don’t fuck with me. I can hold my own against him, I have for years.” She pulled out of his hands and wiped at her eyes, reconstructing her defenses for the sake of propriety and vulnerability.
“Addison.” His voice strong, insistent, not quite demanding, and she tilted her head up. “I don’t know what he said to you, but it sent you nearly sprinting to a supply closet and left him with a smug grin.”
--
Izzie.
“You know what I’m tired of hearing?” She winced, the kind that happens when someone swallows something they think tastes remarkably like acetone, and set the shot glass down on the floor. “Variations of ‘what guys like that do to women like you.’ Because they always, always, become one of those guys in the end. I fucking quit.” She poured another shot and swallowed it, grimacing in disgust and screwing the cap back on to check the electric green price tag on the bottom of the plastic bottle which accurately explained the taste.
“Seriously?” She stole the bottle from the other woman’s grasp and tossed the cap out of the way, giggling when it rolled somewhere in the corner of the room, and took a drink directly from the bottle. “It’s true. No one should ever, ever, treat a woman like you, Addison Montgomery, anything less than perfect.” She blamed her confession on the alcohol, inhibitions had kept her silent until now, until they decided to bond over the lack of redeeming values in the men they worked with.
She laughed and fell back against the side of the bed. “Back at you, Isobel Stevens.” They smiled at each other and their sad eyes met in understanding, changing to curiosity and hope in the sudden promising silence. “We need hugs,” she decided, and tugged the blonde over to her, and they sat, arms around each other in awkward inebriated support until they both felt better.
“Yeah, we did,” her voice turned to a whisper, suddenly forgetting about their original intent for the night and focusing on the look the redhead was giving her. Without thinking, because alcohol did that to her, she leaned forward and kissed her, tasting vodka on her breath and chapstick on her lips and feeling herself brought forward and closer and hands in her hair, her tongue snaking her way into her mouth. She responded in turn and found enough sobriety to pull them both onto the bed.
“Promise me one thing, Izzie,” she said between gasps as they eagerly undressed each other and kissed newly-bare skin. “Promise me that no one will ever say that stupid ‘people like that…’ line about you.”
Hooking her fingers into the straps of the woman’s black thong, she kissed her deeply. “Promise.” And she removed the last article of clothing between the two of them.