we forgot to fall apart {alex/addison}
Title: We Forgot To Fall Apart
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,000
Prompt: #43 - Sun for writing_rainbow
Author's Note: Inspired by last episode, a few fics from various places and...god I wish I knew. I didn't even write them when they were still canon.
Summary: Spoilers for 4.16, then vague spec. There are the reasons why he's there, and then there are the reasons he will actually give for why he's there.
It was one of those unbearably hot mornings, ones that convinced him that they should’ve done this in Seattle. California summers felt too much like he’d imagine Texas would, and maybe that had to do with him being a northerner all his life - maybe he was just built for cold - but he just knew he didn’t like it.
The sheets stick to his skin, the comforter kicked off into a pile on the floor long ago; “stupid heat wave,” Addison had muttered when she tripped over it on her way to the shower, and he tried to pretend he thought he could salvage a few more minutes of sleep while she was in there.
He didn’t. Instead he checked his voicemail and listened to Meredith be a better big sister to him than her own blood, telling him “you picked a really fucking bad time to run away”. Alex had told everyone he was at his mother’s, that something had come up and pretended to go traipsing off to Iowa when in fact he headed south. Meredith didn’t buy it, but Izzie did and that was enough.
Really, if he was in the mood to be entirely honest with Meredith, he probably would’ve told her he was just going somewhere where he couldn’t do anymore damage. So far Addison was the only one he hadn’t managed to hurt all that much, and Alex has always been someone who needs to push that extra inch, that extra mile, just to see if his luck will turn, just because he can.
He doesn’t call her back. There wouldn’t be a point, when all he’d get is questions he won’t answer and probably plea for him to come back. Tomorrow’s his last day anyway; that’s always been the plan. Come here, get a change in scenery, forget himself for a while in Addison because, hey, it’s not like she really seemed to mind; he’s not wrecking any homes or breaking any hearts in her life and that’s what makes this all okay.
“When are you leaving?” Addison asks, back in bed with still damp strands that fall down her bare shoulders. Her towel lies, discarded, on the floor.
“Soon,” he says, for the life of him can’t remember when he said his flight was supposed to be getting in. “It’s like a nine hour drive.”
She laughs and the hand that just brushes his arm is cool from the water. He thinks that a cold shower before he goes isn’t the worst idea (and not for the usual reasons). “You could tell them there was a delay,” she reminds him, rolling to her side to face him, propped up on her elbow.
‘Careful,’ he wants to say, ‘you’re starting to sound like you care’. That would go against unspoken ground rules, the things laid out when he showed up on her doorstep and said, “I’ll be here for a week”. The rules that say this is just a no-strings attached escape route. “Now why would I do that?”
Her answer is a finger trailing along his chest, her lips parted in some sort of quiet fascination, and he thinks about kissing her, about that one second before their lips touch where her eyes slip closed and her hands make a grab for him, digging into his shoulder or his back, really whatever she can get her hands on easiest (it’s different than Izzie who’s all gentle touches; her hands always come up to cradle the sides of his face, lending itself to the sort of intimacy that no one else has ever replicated - it’s probably why he seems to always be comparing). He thinks about it and she leans in a little and then he’s closing the space between them.
His hand comes up to the side of her face, but she catches him by the wrist, moves his hand down to palm her breast, moans into his mouth. He feels her nipple harden against his touch and she moves to straddle his hips, thighs gripping him. She kisses him like she needs to, either to make herself feel better or to hurt someone else.
(“I need to know if you’re happy,” he’d said, asked of her, the third time, because fight and flight were dueling in his mind and he needed to make a decision, soon preferably.
She hadn’t given him her answer until she stuck her head inside the otherwise empty locker room and told him, “No, I’m not happy. I left to try and be happy and it didn’t work.”
His keys fell off the edge of his locker, clatter to the ground, the only sound in the entire room. He made no move to pick them up, just waited for the punch line, for the uplifting words of wisdom.
“But I don’t think I would’ve been happy if I stayed either.” She shrugged, like this was all just so trivial. “Maybe happy endings just aren’t meant for some people.”
Alex’s heart sunk, just a little, for the both of them.)
“We don’t have time for this,” he tells her, against the assault her mouth is putting up, even as he keeps kissing her.
She gets her fingers along a particular sensitive part of his neck, presses, until he backs up enough that she can look him in the eye, as she asks him, “Aren’t we wasting time talking about this then?” The movement is deliberate, because when he’s looking at her, when she’s got her eyes fixed on him like this, then he’s nothing more than her damn intern again whether he likes it or not, and she knows it.
He thinks that’s why he’s here: can’t break it if you aren’t in control of it.
Alex misses his flight, he’ll claim later, on the phone, fake apologies, and his car sits parked under the burning California sun. Some delay for thunderstorms, the Weather Channel on mute in the background, for accuracy’s sake, and Addison’s legs tangled with his.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,000
Prompt: #43 - Sun for writing_rainbow
Author's Note: Inspired by last episode, a few fics from various places and...god I wish I knew. I didn't even write them when they were still canon.
Summary: Spoilers for 4.16, then vague spec. There are the reasons why he's there, and then there are the reasons he will actually give for why he's there.
It was one of those unbearably hot mornings, ones that convinced him that they should’ve done this in Seattle. California summers felt too much like he’d imagine Texas would, and maybe that had to do with him being a northerner all his life - maybe he was just built for cold - but he just knew he didn’t like it.
The sheets stick to his skin, the comforter kicked off into a pile on the floor long ago; “stupid heat wave,” Addison had muttered when she tripped over it on her way to the shower, and he tried to pretend he thought he could salvage a few more minutes of sleep while she was in there.
He didn’t. Instead he checked his voicemail and listened to Meredith be a better big sister to him than her own blood, telling him “you picked a really fucking bad time to run away”. Alex had told everyone he was at his mother’s, that something had come up and pretended to go traipsing off to Iowa when in fact he headed south. Meredith didn’t buy it, but Izzie did and that was enough.
Really, if he was in the mood to be entirely honest with Meredith, he probably would’ve told her he was just going somewhere where he couldn’t do anymore damage. So far Addison was the only one he hadn’t managed to hurt all that much, and Alex has always been someone who needs to push that extra inch, that extra mile, just to see if his luck will turn, just because he can.
He doesn’t call her back. There wouldn’t be a point, when all he’d get is questions he won’t answer and probably plea for him to come back. Tomorrow’s his last day anyway; that’s always been the plan. Come here, get a change in scenery, forget himself for a while in Addison because, hey, it’s not like she really seemed to mind; he’s not wrecking any homes or breaking any hearts in her life and that’s what makes this all okay.
“When are you leaving?” Addison asks, back in bed with still damp strands that fall down her bare shoulders. Her towel lies, discarded, on the floor.
“Soon,” he says, for the life of him can’t remember when he said his flight was supposed to be getting in. “It’s like a nine hour drive.”
She laughs and the hand that just brushes his arm is cool from the water. He thinks that a cold shower before he goes isn’t the worst idea (and not for the usual reasons). “You could tell them there was a delay,” she reminds him, rolling to her side to face him, propped up on her elbow.
‘Careful,’ he wants to say, ‘you’re starting to sound like you care’. That would go against unspoken ground rules, the things laid out when he showed up on her doorstep and said, “I’ll be here for a week”. The rules that say this is just a no-strings attached escape route. “Now why would I do that?”
Her answer is a finger trailing along his chest, her lips parted in some sort of quiet fascination, and he thinks about kissing her, about that one second before their lips touch where her eyes slip closed and her hands make a grab for him, digging into his shoulder or his back, really whatever she can get her hands on easiest (it’s different than Izzie who’s all gentle touches; her hands always come up to cradle the sides of his face, lending itself to the sort of intimacy that no one else has ever replicated - it’s probably why he seems to always be comparing). He thinks about it and she leans in a little and then he’s closing the space between them.
His hand comes up to the side of her face, but she catches him by the wrist, moves his hand down to palm her breast, moans into his mouth. He feels her nipple harden against his touch and she moves to straddle his hips, thighs gripping him. She kisses him like she needs to, either to make herself feel better or to hurt someone else.
(“I need to know if you’re happy,” he’d said, asked of her, the third time, because fight and flight were dueling in his mind and he needed to make a decision, soon preferably.
She hadn’t given him her answer until she stuck her head inside the otherwise empty locker room and told him, “No, I’m not happy. I left to try and be happy and it didn’t work.”
His keys fell off the edge of his locker, clatter to the ground, the only sound in the entire room. He made no move to pick them up, just waited for the punch line, for the uplifting words of wisdom.
“But I don’t think I would’ve been happy if I stayed either.” She shrugged, like this was all just so trivial. “Maybe happy endings just aren’t meant for some people.”
Alex’s heart sunk, just a little, for the both of them.)
“We don’t have time for this,” he tells her, against the assault her mouth is putting up, even as he keeps kissing her.
She gets her fingers along a particular sensitive part of his neck, presses, until he backs up enough that she can look him in the eye, as she asks him, “Aren’t we wasting time talking about this then?” The movement is deliberate, because when he’s looking at her, when she’s got her eyes fixed on him like this, then he’s nothing more than her damn intern again whether he likes it or not, and she knows it.
He thinks that’s why he’s here: can’t break it if you aren’t in control of it.
Alex misses his flight, he’ll claim later, on the phone, fake apologies, and his car sits parked under the burning California sun. Some delay for thunderstorms, the Weather Channel on mute in the background, for accuracy’s sake, and Addison’s legs tangled with his.