(no subject)
Title: Almost There, Going Nowhere
Part: 37B/?
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: R
Summary: Addison attempts to start her life over post Season 3 and runs into a barrel of trouble trying to get there. Previous parts can be found here.
A/N: Thank you Hannah!
~-~-~-~-~-~
Brandskär
- September Malevolence
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark was a little skeptical about their first meeting with Dr. Everly after Addison being put on bedrest, but he was assured then as he is now that she won't try and skip off, or demand that they go out grocery shopping on the way home. He feels safer, less agitated, when she is still. Even if being silent comes hand in hand, as it often does. Some days he tries to engage her in conversation, finding that persistence can pay off, but other days he's too exhausted to get out of his shoes before he passes out on the mattress. Today, is another extreme.
The doctor's appointment went as it always did, Addison sat stiffly and did as she was instructed, not asking questions, not paying any attention. And Mark was overly involved, wanting answers to things he already knows, and wondering how much longer they can hold out before she will inevitably deliver. He needed to know who would be there, what would happen exactly, so he could visualize it instead of flying by the whim that he's enjoyed most of his life.
That's the thing about Addison. She makes him want to plan ahead, to look forward. She always has. Even when she wasn't his. Even when they are at each other's throats.
Today, however, he is having a hard time caring one way or another. He drops his coat by the door and pulls his feet toward the kitchen, searching for the alcohol. He doesn't call upstairs to let her know not to be alarmed by the sound of the front door opening, and he doesn't attend to her first. Instead, he searches through cupboards frantically until he happens upon an old bottle of scotch that's only half full, looking like something that Derek once owned. It only burns him more to think that Addison kept it from him so he neglects the glasses and takes an unusually long pull straight from the bottle.
Once it roars through his throat he takes another, and another, before ambling toward the couch and waiting for it to kick in.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sam?” Addison questions her phone, even though the caller ID said Naomi.
“Yeah, hey, is Mark at home?”
“I don't know,” she replies, adjusting the pillow behind her constantly aching back. She thinks it's only aided by not having moved in the last two weeks.
“You don't know?”
“It's not like I can go check. I heard the door, then again, I guess I could be getting robbed right now.”
“I get the point. Can- are you allowed to go see?” He doesn't know the specifics, just that she isn't coming back to work for awhile and that if Mark calls him freaking out that he shouldn't be surprised. Naomi rehearsed a calming speech for him to give to both parties in the event it occurs.
“I guess,” Addison agrees, knowing though that today she hasn't been exactly in top form. Her head is killing her for no reason, and the nausea seems to be lingering just behind every shift she makes. She carefully disentangles her legs from the sheets, setting one wobbly limb down after another and then breathes into her phone once she is vertical. “Why am I going downstairs Sam?”
“Mark...had a bad day.”
“Mark had a bad day? Bad day how? Did someone die?”
“No,” Sam tells her, listening as she wanders through the house. “Pierce was here, it got messy Addison. Just make sure he is okay for us, and...call me if you need me.”
“Bye,” she whispers, creeping down the stairs, hands clutched to the railing. “Mark?”
“You shouldn't be down here,” he says sternly, turning back to the alcohol on the coffee table.
“Well, it's too late for that lecture so spare me. What happened?” She drifts to the couch, keeping her distance, and tucks herself into the corner, a throw pillow covering her stomach.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing has you drinking to get drunk?”
“Yup,” he nods and takes another quick shot in his mouth before Addison can lean forward and snag the bottle. “Hey!”
“Mark,” she warns him, settling the bottle on the end table behind her. “Talk to me.”
“There isn't anything to say, there's never anything to say to you Addison.” With that he stands, marches toward the beach, and slams the door on the way out, letting the redhead deal with the reverberating glass panels that threaten to break under the pressure.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She gives him ten minutes alone with the waves crashing to clear his head. Talking is not their strong suit, and when it is, it's simply because one or the other blurts something out. They keep it in until it's volatile, waiting for the explosion. If nothing else, she decides standing again, it will distract her.
“Shouldn't be out here,” Mark murmurs as she collapses next to him on the deck.
“I know where I should and should not be,” Addison counters, lying back against the deck, stomach in the air blocking her view of anything. She takes in the fuzzy clouds, sun just barely peaking through. “What happened with Pierce?”
He'd ask how she knows but that'd be foolish. The entire office saw their showdown and no doubt called to give her a heads up. “Nothing.”
“Mark-”
“Derek would have been a good dad,” he says softly after a few minutes.
“What?” Addison jumps back, surprised at the lack of segue between their conversations.
He kicks at the sand for a moment before doing what he does best- hurting people. “I'm not cut out for this.”
He watches her for a few moments before gathering up the gall to take a walk down the beach alone.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part of her wants to rush off after him, ask him where he thinks he gets off, but another part of her is relieved to see him go. She can breathe for the first time in weeks, and she can't help but think the two actions are interlocked. Grabbing a glass of water, and the mail she shuffles back to the couch and settles in for the night.
The contractions start at about seven and he's not back. Fortunately, they aren't hard or persistent. Just dull waves trying to prepare her for the real thing. In an hour they are gone and she pushes herself upstairs toward the bedroom, tired for no reason. But by the time she hits the sheets her mind is wide awake, wondering where he could be. Out drinking presumably, alone hopefully.
The reason she keeps herself so guarded, so closed off, it's for these instances. Because old Addison couldn't handle this, being left repeatedly by the man she questionably loves. She was too broken, too beaten, too bruised by her life's events. But new Addison barely feels a thing. She almost misses the panic that would be setting in about now, nearly desires to feel that kind of hurt once more in the midst of the blackness that has swept her up.
She takes a deep breath as another set of contractions comes along. It's going to be a long night.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Before wandering off like an idiot he managed to forget that there is nothing in his old house, save the stupid sleeping bag. Now he's too ashamed and alternately pride filled to go back and retrieve a pillow or a toothbrush so he slumps onto the hardwood floor and lets the thoughts pound along.
It isn't that he doesn't care about her, or the twins. It's possibly that he cares too much. He's out on a branch and for the first time its terrifying. As they wind down closer to her due date, as the lack of preparedness rears its head, he gets progressively more worried. And he's not the pressure type of guy, not in his personal life anyway. Clean cuts, that's his motto. Easy come, easy go.
And they've made progress, there's been steps forward, he acknowledges that much but they are too few and too small. Time has come, and they haven't pulled out a win. But what scares him the most is losing any one of them, Pierce's children included. That's why he freaked out a little today, screaming at a man who is probably trying his hardest, telling him Pierce he's not good enough when Mark's not even sure he'd be better. He just knows it doesn't feel right, any of it.
So he ran.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Mark, open the door!” Sam yells through the other side of the wood. It pulls back instantly, and Mark steps outside into the porch light. “Addison sent me to check on you.”
“How nice,” he grunts.
“Well, it's not like she's allowed to move. Not exactly a fair fight,” Sam allows and leans back against the side of the house. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” Mark replies.
“Scared?” Sam smirks knowingly, changing the subject.
“Out of my mind.”
“It gets better,” Sam tells him.
“Yeah but you had Naomi,” Mark remembers. He wasn't really around much for Maya but they were at least married and excited about bringing a child into the world.
“And you have Addison,” Sam nods.
“Sure,” Mark complies. She's there physically, but only time will tell how big of a help she will actually be.
“So,” Sam clears his throat uncomfortably, not wanting to get into anything about Addison or the late, great Derek Shepherd. “Should I tell her you are alive and staying here tonight or are you headed back any time soon?”
“I should go back,” Mark asserts. It's the right thing to do, for all of them. Make peace, keep it stress free. He's supposed to be supportive, even if he is entitled to a heart attack every now and again.
“I'll give you a ride.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
He scuffles into the entryway debating whether or not to sleep it out on the couch. She's more than likely upset, understandably so, and he doesn't have the energy for another “discussion”. But the curiosity wins out and he trudges up the stairs reluctantly to find her awake and still. “Hey.”
“Welcome home,” Addison smarts off, dropping her book on the nightstand. It's her fifth of the week and her eyes are tired of reading.
He slips out of his jeans, and throws his shirt toward the corner of the room, headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to revive his mentality. When he emerges from the steam he decides to take a different approach, one they've never really used before. “Addison, you up?”
“Yeah,” she admits, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh-” she gasps as she takes a hard kick to the ribs. He stares at her waiting and she simply rolls her eyes.
“This afternoon,” he begins, taking a seat on the bed, “Pierce was there picking up Ellie, and I approached him, and things were said, and then I came home. I didn't mean to walk out, I just needed space.”
Addison purses her lips confused. He's calm and reflective instead of agitated and defensive. “Okay.”
“I would really like to revisit the conversation we were having before.”
“I know,” she nods.
“If I didn't think we could do it, I wouldn't ask.” Alright, maybe he would, but that's beside the point. She's receptive and momentarily open so he has to go for it.
“I'm not a mother,” Addison states sadly, and she doesn't feel like she's about to be one. Not even an inch of her feels maternal, and she has tried to conjure up something, spent a few minutes with her hands over her stomach, relishing in the kicks but there's nothing. It's as if they belong to another person out there in the vast world of California.
“And I'm not father material, but we could be, and even if we aren't- what we are, it works for them. We did good stuff.”
“I yelled at them.”
“It happens.”
“I'm going to be a horrible parent,” Addison says, immediately regretting the pity party she is inciting.
Mark watches her insecurities boil just under the surface. Granted, he's had his questions about her lately but he'd never say she was going to be horrible. Maybe challenged is what he would call it. “No, Addison, you won't be.”
She gulps down the emotions patiently, and then rolls her head to the side so she can see him. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
He's about to ask for clarity on what she means by 'any of this' but his pager sounds, and he's off to the hospital, kissing her cheek, leaving her to the tears that will surely claim her face as soon as the car engine rumbles to life outside.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I want to move,” Addison tells him plainly the next evening, as they share Chinese food in bed, the cartons littering the sheets, discarded chopsticks on the bedside table.
“Now is not a good time.”
“It is,” she argues. “I can pack things without moving around too much and-and I can label boxes.”
“No,” Mark sighs and tries to divert her. “How have you been today?”
“Fine,” Addison replies. “I want to move into your house.”
“My house?” Mark asks, snagging an egg roll out of the box by his crossed feet.
“It's not far,” she tells him. She's given it a lot of thought and she needs out of this place. This house with memories and nightmares. It doesn't feel appropriate any longer.
“Regardless,” Mark begins. “Maybe after,” he gestures to her stomach and fights the urge to slap some common sense into her head. She's hormonal and crazy and he knows slightly better.
“Sam can help and Nae-”
“Addison, no.”
“Fine,” she huffs and heads for the bathroom to escape him. The door slams victoriously as she sinks against the counter, upset for reasons unknown to ever her, the feeling of being caged up too much to bare any longer. She needs a change of scenery.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Thank you...for meeting with me,” Mark begins, desk chair rocking with his nervous feet.
“It's probably against my better judgment,” Pierce admits, “But my daughter seems to think you are an okay guy.”
“I am,” Mark assures him. “Well, I try to be.” He stares at his pseudo brother in-law nervously, hoping the apology can go unsaid. “I was wondering when you were moving.”
“Next weekend,” Pierce confirms, toying with the handle of his black briefcase. He's got a lunch in an hour but Mark is nothing if not persistent he's learned, and that's how he landed himself back at Oceanside this morning.
“Addison wants custody,” Mark blurts out suddenly.
“What?” Pierce questions, legs trying to rise of their own accord.
“She's on bed rest, and she can't be here. Look I don't want to be doing this anymore than you do,” Mark smirks. “I'm just the messenger.”
“I thought-”
“She changed her mind,” Mark cuts him off easily. “She wants you to swing by the house, if you can, to talk tonight.”
“Why the sudden change?” Pierce asks skeptically.
Mark shrugs convincingly. “Don't know. She's hormonal, and I didn't want to cause a meltdown so I said I would ask. It's all I can do. So, yes or no for tonight?”
“These are my children,” Pierce says harshly.
“I'm sure she's aware of that,” Mark answers. “Six sound good? I'll grab dinner on my way out for us all.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
There's a small part of her that thinks maybe this is warranting a call to Dr. Everly, but she also reasons that she is one of the world's most sought after doctors and she can handle it just fine on her own. So she relaxes her head against the lid of the toilet and waits for the next heave. When she's certain she's done she leans back against the wall, relishing in the cool tile under her bare legs, and takes a deep breath wishing it would all just go away.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison?” Mark perks up, looking into the bathroom, after discovering her missing on his daily trip home for lunch.
Things have been tense, tempers high, and it's mostly silent around these parts but he still finds himself unable to stop caring about her well being. No matter how infuriating she is, no matter how many times she delays his plans and screws up everything, he always needs what's best for her and the twins to happen. That's why seeing her curled up on the floor is slightly disconcerting. He nudges her shoulder with his foot before dropping to the ground when her eyes begin to flutter open. He checks her pulse, makes sure her feet aren't huge balls of puff and then hoists her up into his arms without a word. Once he's got her situated on the bed he discovers the courage. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she whispers and curls around his body to sleep more soundly.
“You need to tell me if something is wrong, I can't guess all the time.”
“I know,” she says softly and then ushers him back against the headboard for a quick nap in between
patients.
Mark closes his eyes designing a new plan that somehow involves pulling off this heist without Addison knowing first. He doesn't imagine the ambush is going to go well.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Ugh!” Addison screams upstairs in frustration before giving in and heading for the annoying doorbell downstairs that will not let up. She pulls it back angrily and sputters, “P-Pierce.”
“Addison,” he replies, as Ellie comes flying out from behind his legs and attaches herself to her aunt.
“Hello Ellie,” Addison grins. “What are you doing-”
“Baby! I'm home!” Mark yells, attempting to break up their party. He drops the bags of food on the counter hastily and hightails it for the living room. “Hey you,” Mark smiles, reaching out for Ellie and swinging her into the air as she squeals. He hugs her tightly, relishing in the human contact he isn't really getting out of Addison lately. She's cold when he needs warm, sealed off when he needs just the tiniest of inclinations to keep pressing forward.
“Pierce,” Addison says slowly, “Would you give us a minute?”
“Sure,” he agrees, dragging his eldest daughter along behind him, and plucking Kennedy out of her carrier when she begins to wail, a seeming side effect of being in this house.
“What is going on?”
“Don't get mad,” Mark says instantly.
“What would I be getting mad about?”
“Don't yell,” he instructs.
“Why would I be yelling?” she challenges.
“I told Pierce you wanted custody,” Mark laments and braces for impact.
“What!” she screeches, her throat constricting violently against the betrayal.
“I said don't yell,” he says quietly, leading her by the elbow toward the stairs. “He agreed to meet with you...or us, I think he's serious about this Addison.”
“I was serious before-”
“I understand that.”
“Really? Because it seems to me that you can't remember-”
“I need this, alright? I don't know why, but I do. I can't fucking explain it to you and I'm tired of trying. They need to not be under his supervision and I am aware that you don't think we are any better but at least we can make sure that their hair gets brushed and that they make it to school-”
“I'm under house arrest,” Addison hisses, fingers itching for something to throw. “I can't do anything for anyone.”
“I'll handle it. All of it.”
“This is absolutely your worst idea to date.” She throws her arms above her head in resignation. He's going to do as he pleases anyway.
“Quite possibly,” Mark agrees, rubbing her back with his free hand. “Please Addie, please.”
“You're going to leave me with a screaming five month old all day while you play at work?”
“No,” he shakes his head.
“Did you think this through at all?” Addison seethes, leaning against the banister.
“Kind of. Follow my lead?”
“I reserve the right to stop speaking with you,” she adds on, as they walk forward.
“Noted.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison watches Ellie play with a small doll patiently while Mark and Pierce hammer out the details. Los Angeles during the week, San Francisco most weekends. Holidays split up, occasional visits, summer breaks. She'll give it to him, as penance for her crimes, for stealing the only chance he'd ever have at their child. There's no stopping the rolling wheel, it doesn't matter how unhappy she is with all of this.
“Addison?” Mark asks and she glares at him, but takes his help in assisting her off the floor she was stuck on. “Come look this over?”
She reads through the preliminary draft with great disinterest. She's not the lawyer in the room and frankly the hereinafters, exclusions, and loopholes put her to sleep. Mark gets up on page two to go tend to the crying baby in the other room.
“I'm sorry about...that night,” Pierce tells her. “I shouldn't- I wasn't thinking clearly,” he says referring to their awkward evening of grief and inappropriate touching.
“It's fine,” she replies even though it's not.
“I wish I was better for them...Reagan was an amazing mother.”
“I'm sure she was,” Addison nods. She's got no clue, and there's no point in arguing.
“You're okay with all of this?” Pierce asks a few minutes later.
“I'm trying to do what's best for them,” Addison decides. “I think...this is what she would want.”
“Thank you,” he gulps unsteadily. “Maybe we can revisit-”
“No,” Addison declines. “This is it. If we go forward, from here on out this is where they belong. You have every right to change your mind in the next few days but after that- I won't jerk them around Pierce, they've been through enough. They need something stable.”
“I agree,” he says mournfully. It all could have been so different just a few short months ago. “I'll have my lawyer look over this, and I'll think on it, get back to you.”
Addison leaves the irony about a lawyer needing a lawyer unsaid and stands up, putting out a hand and receiving a strong hug.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Thank you,” Mark whispers in her ear, after they've both crawled into bed.
“I hate you,” she cries, tears staining her pillow, lungs trying to breathe in normally.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The first thing Mark hears are whimpers, low and short, coming from the other side of the room. His heart reacts first, surging to life, as his fingers fumble with the cord on the bedside lamp next to him. “Addison?” he murmurs, in case it's just another dream. He rolls over to find her wide awake. “It's time?”
“Something is wrong,” she tells him assuredly, as another wave of pain forces her to curl her toes and hunch back into the fetal position.
“Something is wrong...like labor or-”
“No, you need to call 911.” Her voice is calm, betraying her body, making Mark question everything and waste time.
“Well, if it just hurts Addison, I can drive you in. Or I can call Naomi-”
“Or,” she slams her teeth together suddenly, “you can call for an ambulance.”
“I can get you there, can you walk? Do I need to carry you?” He stumbles to the ground, straightening out his boxers and reaching for a spare shirt thrown haphazardly over the chair.
“Call the damn ambulance Mark,” she orders, in a tone that makes him snap to. “Tell them I have intense abdominal pain and...” she stops angrily as he takes her hand, encouraging her to breathe through the impossible anguish. “And my water broke-”
He reaches for her legs, hidden under the blankets. “Are you dilated?” He pulls back the sheets to find another pool of blood, and his head tells him that they have got to stop doing things her way.
“What?” Addison asks his face frightening her, hoping against all odds that this will be an uncomplicated, fast labor.
“Where's a phone?”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“What's happening!” Mark yells anxiously at Charlotte King, pacing the waiting room floor after being kicked out of the trauma bay.
“My team thinks there's a placental abruption, we won't know how bad until we get in there.”
“In there,” Mark stumbles.
“It's time,” Charlotte pats his shoulder. “Get suited up Sloan.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Mark,” Naomi orders, staring at the tall man pasted to the window in front of him. “Mark.”
“What?” he replies, not turning around to look at her, instead choosing to focus on the moving lips of the many doctors in the room before him.
“She's alright.”
“You don't know that.”
“I have faith,” Naomi corrects.
“Maybe you should go in there,” he says softly, motioning toward the operating room. “She'd want you.” And she hates him, it's the least he could do, considering the night's events.
“No, she'd want you,” Naomi smiles. “That's where you need to be. And I'm here when you are done. We'll handle it all together, no matter what, okay?”
Mark tries to roll his eyes at her motherly pep-talk but fails, wanting the reassurance more than he'll admit. Possibly broken babies and life threatening problems with the woman he loves are kind of pushing his threshold today. “Yeah.”
“You better get in there before it's over,” she smiles and gives him a quick nudge before hustling up to the gallery, the very same one she watched a close friend and patient die in a few months before. Nature likes to mock them.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
He's vaguely aware of the day, February 27th, Derek's birthday, as he stumbles into the OR. They'll be born today, of that there is no doubt. He's scuttles along slowly, knowing they've begun prepping her without him but not okay with letting her be in there all alone, even if she is knocked out. Part of him is too terrified to take another step forward, to watch them rip her apart, and yet another section is excited. They've been a long time coming, even if they are early and he can only hope against all odds that they come out healthy.
His hands dry, red scrubs intact, he joins them and looks down until he finds the head of the table. He wishes she were conscious. He wants this to be the thing that slams her into motherhood heart first, needs for her to not feel robbed of the experience. He rationalizes that she understands the circumstances, and the logic behind the medical procedure but he isn't sure that Addison the mother (when and if she ever comes into play) will be alright with never having heard their first breaths, their first cries. Never having witnessed their first kicks and flails.
Maybe he can log it well enough in his memory to share if she is ever inclined to ask.
“I'll have them out shortly Dr. Sloan,” the young woman, younger than both he and Addison, tells him confidently. He doesn't know who she is, her background, her medical training, and yet here she is holding his future in her possibly unskilled hands. He nods, head feeling like lead, and watches the first of two be successfully “birthed”. Then the second, and they are whisked away, the murmurings not low enough so that he doesn't hear. They didn't cry or flail, and not having Addison's capable mind being the one that is preparing to treat them scares him more than the rest of it.
“I've got a while here, but she's stable,” the woman perks up again, without looking at him. “You're free to check on them at any point. Dr. King says you two are important.”
If he had the guts he'd look over and make sure she's doing her job right, but it's all been a quick blur, and the little incubators are gone with the unfortunately sick children. He's stuck like cement so he swallows the thickness in his throat and mumbles back, “I need to stay with her.”
He takes to stroking her soft hair, the color apparently not inherited by the twins, when they order another bag of blood hung up.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Full placental abruption,” Charlotte announces, dropping a chart on his lap, as he watches nurses fuss over the two little girls he already adores. “Montgomery goes all out.”
“Yeah,” Mark nods, sifting through the pages. “She awake yet?”
“No, she'll be coming out of anesthesia soon though, I'll have them page you.”
“How are they?” he asks, pointing to the separate incubators.
“Could be better,” Charlotte admits, having paid closer attention than she'd let on. “They have names?” she asks before continuing, having found that people don't really appreciate the alphabetical labeling system of their children. “Baby A, born first, weighs only 3 pounds and 5 ounces. Baby B 3 pounds, 1 ounce. They're pretty underweight Sloan.”
Mark closes his eyes slowly. He saw it coming, but he didn't think they'd be this small, little veins poking out, eyes taped shut. He's pretty sure he could hold one in his open palm.
“They're are having difficulties breathing among other things,” she explains as he stares at all the tubes. “Dr. Sloan,” Charlotte clears her throat.
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“You should...maybe prepare yourself for the possibility that...they may not make it.”
His head turns in confusion toward the short blonde in the doorway. Surely they aren't that bad. “Dr. King-”
“We're doing everything we can. I'm sorry,” Charlotte nods, and wanders off to find something less wrecking to deal with.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Those are not Mark's children,” Cooper observes immediately, taking a punch to the side from Violet.
“No,” Pete agrees, looking toward Sam and Naomi for an answer. If they had to rush down here at one in the morning to stare at sick babies then he wants to be clued in.
“They aren't Mark's,” Naomi reluctantly divulges. “Do not ask Addison,” she orders.
“Derek,” Violet breathes out, remembering that delicious hair anywhere.
“No one says anything to her...or Mark, it's a sore subject,” Naomi demands again protectively.
“I bet,” Violet snorts.
“Her ex-husband?” Cooper asks.
“Dead ex-husband,” Pete clarifies and then steps closer toward the glass.
“Man,” Cooper breathes out slowly.
“I thought...but they were divorced,” Sam adds in, completely confused, and upset that Naomi didn't tell him.
“Stuff happens,” Violet says, pointing at both of them.
“But she's with Mark now,” Sam says, talking to himself. “You think he's just there because-”
“No,” Naomi cuts him off. “He wants to be with her.”
“What a mess,” Cooper exclaims, leaning against the wall sleepily.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison...God, would you just say something. Anything,” Mark mumbles, mostly to himself, his hands scrubbing over his face. But she stares forward wordlessly, tears clinging to her eyelashes, threatening to pour over at any moment.
“Hey,” Naomi greets softly, joining them after making Charlotte clear everyone so they could go visit her new god-daughters. She pats Addison's leg gently as she slumps onto the mattress, forcing herself into the redhead's personal space.
“Hey,” Mark sighs dejectedly. He'd really like some sort of response so he could go check and worry over the girls again. Six hours and counting (including the horrifying surgery experience) and there's been nothing but sadness out of the person next to him. No words, no screaming, no questions.
Naomi pulls down the blanket Addison has a death grip on and chuckles, trying to ease the tension. “You realize you are the woman the rest of us hate? Pre-baby weight within the first few weeks is unfair. You remember me with Maya...” she trails off sensing everyone in the room is uninterested and somewhere else but still needing to fill the space with noise. It's too much to simply be quiet.
Addison swallows roughly, coming to terms with the last twenty-four hours. She's empty, literally and metaphorically. She has nothing to offer the situation and her children are in capable hands that she can't oversee or complain about. Stuck, head pounding with anticipation, numbing gradually wearing off, pain slowly trying to seep in, she waits. Waits for someone to say something real, to stop dancing around the issues at hand. She's not incompetent or unaware and right now all she has are worse case scenarios floating through her mind and no one stroking her palm supportively because they are all afraid she's going to lash out when all she actually wants to do is curl into a ball and cry.
Naomi leaves again, saying something about it getting late/early, and needing to pick Maya up and get her to school but if you asked either of the people left they wouldn't be able to repeat it thirty seconds later.
“Addison,” Mark grunts again, mindful to stay away from her. “Do you need anything? Are you in pain?”
When she doesn't answer he storms out of the room unhelpfully, letting the door latch loudly as he goes.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“She's been through a lot Mark, physically and emotionally,” Naomi tells him, as he walks her to the parking lot.
“I know,” he sighs loudly, the need for sleep beginning to set in. “I want to know what she's thinking, she won't talk.”
“Having been through the experience of childbirth, she's probably all over the place. It was traumatic, we're fortunate she...we're just fortunate that it went well.”
“Yeah,” he agrees as her car keys jingle in hand, nurses and doctors headed toward the hospital to switch shifts. Lonely family members and friends lining the sidewalk for visiting hours.
“I have to get Maya, but you need to be there for her. No losing your cool, no running out,” her voice picks up accusing him of the other night. “Be there for when she needs you, because she will.”
“They look like Derek,” he chokes out as she begins to climb into her vehicle.
Naomi reaches out and squeezes Mark's hand tightly. She, among the many, continuously forgets how difficult this is for him. He's good at putting up a front. She scrambles for something to say and settles on a sad frown before pulling away and wishing him luck. It would seem they could all use a bit more of that today.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Violet saunters into the room hesitantly. Certainly, she and Addison are not the best of friends, hell they haven't much gotten off on the right foot, but she was requested so she slips into a chair and stares at the redhead waiting. “Sam said you wanted-”
“I don't feel anything,” Addison says suddenly, her first words of the day.
“I'd say that's a good thing considering,” Violet jokes.
“Not physically,” Addison corrects, because the numbness is beginning to slowly give way to a pain that even the drugs they have her on can't quite block out. “I-I don't feel anything.”
“Okay,” Violet assesses. “It's been a long night, maybe some rest-”
“I don't feel like a mother,” Addison laughs cynically. “I just...feel empty.”
“Why do you think that is?” Violet asks, scooting a little closer, enthralled with being able to examine this woman.
“I don't know.”
“I think you do,” Violet presses further.
“What if they die?” Addison asks quietly. “What if...it happens all the time.”
“Do you think you'd feel more...attuned if they were perfectly healthy?”
“I don't know, maybe,” Addison sighs. She still hasn't been able to hear anything concrete on how they are doing, only that they are sick enough to warrant staying put. “I always wanted to be a mother. I always- with Derek, and Mark- I couldn't.”
“Do you regret this?” Violet asks carefully.
“Yes,” she answers quickly, blowing Violet back. She thought she'd get the standard answer of how Addison still loves them but doesn't feel anything but instead she got honesty. “I'd do it differently- I wasn't in a good...place, I'm not in a good place.”
Violet bites her lip not knowing how far to push, when the tears begin to fall she decides it's time to back the heck off. Addison is not a patient, she's a co-worker, and one that Violet doesn't know that well yet. “It's okay,” she offers sheepishly.
“Not-okay,” Addison replies, the back of her hands brushing her cheeks. “I don't want them! That's not okay.”
“I think,” Violet grabs one of her shaky hands, “if you get some rest, you may feel differently.”
“I thought,” Addison cries, “if- when they were here, I would feel something finally. I want to feel again.”
Of course Mark chooses that exact moment to shuffle through the door, looking like someone kicked his dog. Violet gathers her things and excuses herself to let them deal with it. Surely, he is better equipped to handle her craziness.
“Hey, hey,” Mark says soothingly, guiding her back against the pillows gently. He takes the fraction of an inch of mattress next to her and waits it out. He brushes her knotted hair back, securing it poorly with a hair tie from the bag by his feet (the same one he hurriedly packed weeks ago and managed to remember this trip), so it stays out of her way. She squirms around uncomfortably until she can settle her head against his shoulder, urging him to lie down with her. When he complies the sobs turn to sniffles, eyes drifting shut slowly. She's exhausted and run ragged, and he knows she gets more emotional when that happens. Same goes for him.
“I'm sorry,” Addison squeaks through her tired voice. “I'm sorry Mark.”
“Not a thing,” he assures her, hand slipping inside her flimsy gown and rubbing the soft skin of her back.
“You're too good for me,” she whispers drowsily a few minutes later. Mark's face contorts itself into a small smile, echoing her sentiments, relishing with pride. He never thought the day would come where he would be good for her, let alone too good.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Montgomery,” Charlotte screeches, waking both partners in the bed. “Morning,” Charlotte smiles.
“Hrmph,” Mark groans, feeling Addison begin to stir.
“I have good news and bad news,” Charlotte continues undaunted.
“Okay.” Mark's heartbeat nearly leaps through his chest in worry.
“Good news is they're both off the vents now, and I don't foresee any problems there. Bad news is Montgomery spiked a post-op fever of 103, nice work, so I'd like to keep her in here a little longer, as a precautionary measure.” Charlotte will not have the hooligans from Oceanside on her ass because her star surgeon develops an infection.
Mark nods slowly, Addison still not really awake next to him. “Is she-”
“She'll make a full recovery Sloan, just a precaution.”
“And they-”
“Are fighters,” Charlotte says with pride. “They are definitely fighters.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Hear that?” Mark whispers after Charlotte leaves them a few leaflets from charts to fawn over. He'd reach down for one but then they'd both have to move.
“Yeah,” Addison yawns, carefully adjusting herself. Once she's settled she takes the opportunity, “I'm sorry about earlier-”
“No apologies,” Mark stops her. “It's hard.”
“It is,” Addison nods, noting that Violet was dead wrong, and she still can't drudge up any maternal instincts.
Mark leans forward grabbing the pages and begins to read them thoroughly. It's still touch-and-go but they are looking better. He gives each scribbled outline to Addison as he finishes, letting her devour the stats and changes.
As she reads through the charts of Baby A and Baby B she feels a distinct tickle of something new in her stomach. The butterflies of guilt swarm and swoop. She didn't do her job correctly, they're too little, too sick. And now she's stuck in a bed for the foreseeable future. She inhales loudly and decides to stop reading, it was better to not know before.
“They'll be alright,” Mark assures her once he's done. It is their only option. No one will survive another death.
“Yeah,” Addison agrees, closing her eyes tight, sealing herself off once again.
He slides from the bed expertly, searching for his shoes. He needs to go see them. It's been four hours since he last checked and major developments have arisen. He brushes a quick kiss to her temple and weighs the outcome of saying it before giving in, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
And with that, a huge smile for having heard it the first real time, and a quick bounce in his step, Mark exits the room to go check on his other girls.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 37B/?
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: R
Summary: Addison attempts to start her life over post Season 3 and runs into a barrel of trouble trying to get there. Previous parts can be found here.
A/N: Thank you Hannah!
~-~-~-~-~-~
Brandskär
- September Malevolence
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark was a little skeptical about their first meeting with Dr. Everly after Addison being put on bedrest, but he was assured then as he is now that she won't try and skip off, or demand that they go out grocery shopping on the way home. He feels safer, less agitated, when she is still. Even if being silent comes hand in hand, as it often does. Some days he tries to engage her in conversation, finding that persistence can pay off, but other days he's too exhausted to get out of his shoes before he passes out on the mattress. Today, is another extreme.
The doctor's appointment went as it always did, Addison sat stiffly and did as she was instructed, not asking questions, not paying any attention. And Mark was overly involved, wanting answers to things he already knows, and wondering how much longer they can hold out before she will inevitably deliver. He needed to know who would be there, what would happen exactly, so he could visualize it instead of flying by the whim that he's enjoyed most of his life.
That's the thing about Addison. She makes him want to plan ahead, to look forward. She always has. Even when she wasn't his. Even when they are at each other's throats.
Today, however, he is having a hard time caring one way or another. He drops his coat by the door and pulls his feet toward the kitchen, searching for the alcohol. He doesn't call upstairs to let her know not to be alarmed by the sound of the front door opening, and he doesn't attend to her first. Instead, he searches through cupboards frantically until he happens upon an old bottle of scotch that's only half full, looking like something that Derek once owned. It only burns him more to think that Addison kept it from him so he neglects the glasses and takes an unusually long pull straight from the bottle.
Once it roars through his throat he takes another, and another, before ambling toward the couch and waiting for it to kick in.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sam?” Addison questions her phone, even though the caller ID said Naomi.
“Yeah, hey, is Mark at home?”
“I don't know,” she replies, adjusting the pillow behind her constantly aching back. She thinks it's only aided by not having moved in the last two weeks.
“You don't know?”
“It's not like I can go check. I heard the door, then again, I guess I could be getting robbed right now.”
“I get the point. Can- are you allowed to go see?” He doesn't know the specifics, just that she isn't coming back to work for awhile and that if Mark calls him freaking out that he shouldn't be surprised. Naomi rehearsed a calming speech for him to give to both parties in the event it occurs.
“I guess,” Addison agrees, knowing though that today she hasn't been exactly in top form. Her head is killing her for no reason, and the nausea seems to be lingering just behind every shift she makes. She carefully disentangles her legs from the sheets, setting one wobbly limb down after another and then breathes into her phone once she is vertical. “Why am I going downstairs Sam?”
“Mark...had a bad day.”
“Mark had a bad day? Bad day how? Did someone die?”
“No,” Sam tells her, listening as she wanders through the house. “Pierce was here, it got messy Addison. Just make sure he is okay for us, and...call me if you need me.”
“Bye,” she whispers, creeping down the stairs, hands clutched to the railing. “Mark?”
“You shouldn't be down here,” he says sternly, turning back to the alcohol on the coffee table.
“Well, it's too late for that lecture so spare me. What happened?” She drifts to the couch, keeping her distance, and tucks herself into the corner, a throw pillow covering her stomach.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing has you drinking to get drunk?”
“Yup,” he nods and takes another quick shot in his mouth before Addison can lean forward and snag the bottle. “Hey!”
“Mark,” she warns him, settling the bottle on the end table behind her. “Talk to me.”
“There isn't anything to say, there's never anything to say to you Addison.” With that he stands, marches toward the beach, and slams the door on the way out, letting the redhead deal with the reverberating glass panels that threaten to break under the pressure.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She gives him ten minutes alone with the waves crashing to clear his head. Talking is not their strong suit, and when it is, it's simply because one or the other blurts something out. They keep it in until it's volatile, waiting for the explosion. If nothing else, she decides standing again, it will distract her.
“Shouldn't be out here,” Mark murmurs as she collapses next to him on the deck.
“I know where I should and should not be,” Addison counters, lying back against the deck, stomach in the air blocking her view of anything. She takes in the fuzzy clouds, sun just barely peaking through. “What happened with Pierce?”
He'd ask how she knows but that'd be foolish. The entire office saw their showdown and no doubt called to give her a heads up. “Nothing.”
“Mark-”
“Derek would have been a good dad,” he says softly after a few minutes.
“What?” Addison jumps back, surprised at the lack of segue between their conversations.
He kicks at the sand for a moment before doing what he does best- hurting people. “I'm not cut out for this.”
He watches her for a few moments before gathering up the gall to take a walk down the beach alone.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part of her wants to rush off after him, ask him where he thinks he gets off, but another part of her is relieved to see him go. She can breathe for the first time in weeks, and she can't help but think the two actions are interlocked. Grabbing a glass of water, and the mail she shuffles back to the couch and settles in for the night.
The contractions start at about seven and he's not back. Fortunately, they aren't hard or persistent. Just dull waves trying to prepare her for the real thing. In an hour they are gone and she pushes herself upstairs toward the bedroom, tired for no reason. But by the time she hits the sheets her mind is wide awake, wondering where he could be. Out drinking presumably, alone hopefully.
The reason she keeps herself so guarded, so closed off, it's for these instances. Because old Addison couldn't handle this, being left repeatedly by the man she questionably loves. She was too broken, too beaten, too bruised by her life's events. But new Addison barely feels a thing. She almost misses the panic that would be setting in about now, nearly desires to feel that kind of hurt once more in the midst of the blackness that has swept her up.
She takes a deep breath as another set of contractions comes along. It's going to be a long night.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Before wandering off like an idiot he managed to forget that there is nothing in his old house, save the stupid sleeping bag. Now he's too ashamed and alternately pride filled to go back and retrieve a pillow or a toothbrush so he slumps onto the hardwood floor and lets the thoughts pound along.
It isn't that he doesn't care about her, or the twins. It's possibly that he cares too much. He's out on a branch and for the first time its terrifying. As they wind down closer to her due date, as the lack of preparedness rears its head, he gets progressively more worried. And he's not the pressure type of guy, not in his personal life anyway. Clean cuts, that's his motto. Easy come, easy go.
And they've made progress, there's been steps forward, he acknowledges that much but they are too few and too small. Time has come, and they haven't pulled out a win. But what scares him the most is losing any one of them, Pierce's children included. That's why he freaked out a little today, screaming at a man who is probably trying his hardest, telling him Pierce he's not good enough when Mark's not even sure he'd be better. He just knows it doesn't feel right, any of it.
So he ran.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Mark, open the door!” Sam yells through the other side of the wood. It pulls back instantly, and Mark steps outside into the porch light. “Addison sent me to check on you.”
“How nice,” he grunts.
“Well, it's not like she's allowed to move. Not exactly a fair fight,” Sam allows and leans back against the side of the house. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” Mark replies.
“Scared?” Sam smirks knowingly, changing the subject.
“Out of my mind.”
“It gets better,” Sam tells him.
“Yeah but you had Naomi,” Mark remembers. He wasn't really around much for Maya but they were at least married and excited about bringing a child into the world.
“And you have Addison,” Sam nods.
“Sure,” Mark complies. She's there physically, but only time will tell how big of a help she will actually be.
“So,” Sam clears his throat uncomfortably, not wanting to get into anything about Addison or the late, great Derek Shepherd. “Should I tell her you are alive and staying here tonight or are you headed back any time soon?”
“I should go back,” Mark asserts. It's the right thing to do, for all of them. Make peace, keep it stress free. He's supposed to be supportive, even if he is entitled to a heart attack every now and again.
“I'll give you a ride.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
He scuffles into the entryway debating whether or not to sleep it out on the couch. She's more than likely upset, understandably so, and he doesn't have the energy for another “discussion”. But the curiosity wins out and he trudges up the stairs reluctantly to find her awake and still. “Hey.”
“Welcome home,” Addison smarts off, dropping her book on the nightstand. It's her fifth of the week and her eyes are tired of reading.
He slips out of his jeans, and throws his shirt toward the corner of the room, headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to revive his mentality. When he emerges from the steam he decides to take a different approach, one they've never really used before. “Addison, you up?”
“Yeah,” she admits, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh-” she gasps as she takes a hard kick to the ribs. He stares at her waiting and she simply rolls her eyes.
“This afternoon,” he begins, taking a seat on the bed, “Pierce was there picking up Ellie, and I approached him, and things were said, and then I came home. I didn't mean to walk out, I just needed space.”
Addison purses her lips confused. He's calm and reflective instead of agitated and defensive. “Okay.”
“I would really like to revisit the conversation we were having before.”
“I know,” she nods.
“If I didn't think we could do it, I wouldn't ask.” Alright, maybe he would, but that's beside the point. She's receptive and momentarily open so he has to go for it.
“I'm not a mother,” Addison states sadly, and she doesn't feel like she's about to be one. Not even an inch of her feels maternal, and she has tried to conjure up something, spent a few minutes with her hands over her stomach, relishing in the kicks but there's nothing. It's as if they belong to another person out there in the vast world of California.
“And I'm not father material, but we could be, and even if we aren't- what we are, it works for them. We did good stuff.”
“I yelled at them.”
“It happens.”
“I'm going to be a horrible parent,” Addison says, immediately regretting the pity party she is inciting.
Mark watches her insecurities boil just under the surface. Granted, he's had his questions about her lately but he'd never say she was going to be horrible. Maybe challenged is what he would call it. “No, Addison, you won't be.”
She gulps down the emotions patiently, and then rolls her head to the side so she can see him. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
He's about to ask for clarity on what she means by 'any of this' but his pager sounds, and he's off to the hospital, kissing her cheek, leaving her to the tears that will surely claim her face as soon as the car engine rumbles to life outside.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I want to move,” Addison tells him plainly the next evening, as they share Chinese food in bed, the cartons littering the sheets, discarded chopsticks on the bedside table.
“Now is not a good time.”
“It is,” she argues. “I can pack things without moving around too much and-and I can label boxes.”
“No,” Mark sighs and tries to divert her. “How have you been today?”
“Fine,” Addison replies. “I want to move into your house.”
“My house?” Mark asks, snagging an egg roll out of the box by his crossed feet.
“It's not far,” she tells him. She's given it a lot of thought and she needs out of this place. This house with memories and nightmares. It doesn't feel appropriate any longer.
“Regardless,” Mark begins. “Maybe after,” he gestures to her stomach and fights the urge to slap some common sense into her head. She's hormonal and crazy and he knows slightly better.
“Sam can help and Nae-”
“Addison, no.”
“Fine,” she huffs and heads for the bathroom to escape him. The door slams victoriously as she sinks against the counter, upset for reasons unknown to ever her, the feeling of being caged up too much to bare any longer. She needs a change of scenery.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Thank you...for meeting with me,” Mark begins, desk chair rocking with his nervous feet.
“It's probably against my better judgment,” Pierce admits, “But my daughter seems to think you are an okay guy.”
“I am,” Mark assures him. “Well, I try to be.” He stares at his pseudo brother in-law nervously, hoping the apology can go unsaid. “I was wondering when you were moving.”
“Next weekend,” Pierce confirms, toying with the handle of his black briefcase. He's got a lunch in an hour but Mark is nothing if not persistent he's learned, and that's how he landed himself back at Oceanside this morning.
“Addison wants custody,” Mark blurts out suddenly.
“What?” Pierce questions, legs trying to rise of their own accord.
“She's on bed rest, and she can't be here. Look I don't want to be doing this anymore than you do,” Mark smirks. “I'm just the messenger.”
“I thought-”
“She changed her mind,” Mark cuts him off easily. “She wants you to swing by the house, if you can, to talk tonight.”
“Why the sudden change?” Pierce asks skeptically.
Mark shrugs convincingly. “Don't know. She's hormonal, and I didn't want to cause a meltdown so I said I would ask. It's all I can do. So, yes or no for tonight?”
“These are my children,” Pierce says harshly.
“I'm sure she's aware of that,” Mark answers. “Six sound good? I'll grab dinner on my way out for us all.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
There's a small part of her that thinks maybe this is warranting a call to Dr. Everly, but she also reasons that she is one of the world's most sought after doctors and she can handle it just fine on her own. So she relaxes her head against the lid of the toilet and waits for the next heave. When she's certain she's done she leans back against the wall, relishing in the cool tile under her bare legs, and takes a deep breath wishing it would all just go away.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison?” Mark perks up, looking into the bathroom, after discovering her missing on his daily trip home for lunch.
Things have been tense, tempers high, and it's mostly silent around these parts but he still finds himself unable to stop caring about her well being. No matter how infuriating she is, no matter how many times she delays his plans and screws up everything, he always needs what's best for her and the twins to happen. That's why seeing her curled up on the floor is slightly disconcerting. He nudges her shoulder with his foot before dropping to the ground when her eyes begin to flutter open. He checks her pulse, makes sure her feet aren't huge balls of puff and then hoists her up into his arms without a word. Once he's got her situated on the bed he discovers the courage. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she whispers and curls around his body to sleep more soundly.
“You need to tell me if something is wrong, I can't guess all the time.”
“I know,” she says softly and then ushers him back against the headboard for a quick nap in between
patients.
Mark closes his eyes designing a new plan that somehow involves pulling off this heist without Addison knowing first. He doesn't imagine the ambush is going to go well.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Ugh!” Addison screams upstairs in frustration before giving in and heading for the annoying doorbell downstairs that will not let up. She pulls it back angrily and sputters, “P-Pierce.”
“Addison,” he replies, as Ellie comes flying out from behind his legs and attaches herself to her aunt.
“Hello Ellie,” Addison grins. “What are you doing-”
“Baby! I'm home!” Mark yells, attempting to break up their party. He drops the bags of food on the counter hastily and hightails it for the living room. “Hey you,” Mark smiles, reaching out for Ellie and swinging her into the air as she squeals. He hugs her tightly, relishing in the human contact he isn't really getting out of Addison lately. She's cold when he needs warm, sealed off when he needs just the tiniest of inclinations to keep pressing forward.
“Pierce,” Addison says slowly, “Would you give us a minute?”
“Sure,” he agrees, dragging his eldest daughter along behind him, and plucking Kennedy out of her carrier when she begins to wail, a seeming side effect of being in this house.
“What is going on?”
“Don't get mad,” Mark says instantly.
“What would I be getting mad about?”
“Don't yell,” he instructs.
“Why would I be yelling?” she challenges.
“I told Pierce you wanted custody,” Mark laments and braces for impact.
“What!” she screeches, her throat constricting violently against the betrayal.
“I said don't yell,” he says quietly, leading her by the elbow toward the stairs. “He agreed to meet with you...or us, I think he's serious about this Addison.”
“I was serious before-”
“I understand that.”
“Really? Because it seems to me that you can't remember-”
“I need this, alright? I don't know why, but I do. I can't fucking explain it to you and I'm tired of trying. They need to not be under his supervision and I am aware that you don't think we are any better but at least we can make sure that their hair gets brushed and that they make it to school-”
“I'm under house arrest,” Addison hisses, fingers itching for something to throw. “I can't do anything for anyone.”
“I'll handle it. All of it.”
“This is absolutely your worst idea to date.” She throws her arms above her head in resignation. He's going to do as he pleases anyway.
“Quite possibly,” Mark agrees, rubbing her back with his free hand. “Please Addie, please.”
“You're going to leave me with a screaming five month old all day while you play at work?”
“No,” he shakes his head.
“Did you think this through at all?” Addison seethes, leaning against the banister.
“Kind of. Follow my lead?”
“I reserve the right to stop speaking with you,” she adds on, as they walk forward.
“Noted.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison watches Ellie play with a small doll patiently while Mark and Pierce hammer out the details. Los Angeles during the week, San Francisco most weekends. Holidays split up, occasional visits, summer breaks. She'll give it to him, as penance for her crimes, for stealing the only chance he'd ever have at their child. There's no stopping the rolling wheel, it doesn't matter how unhappy she is with all of this.
“Addison?” Mark asks and she glares at him, but takes his help in assisting her off the floor she was stuck on. “Come look this over?”
She reads through the preliminary draft with great disinterest. She's not the lawyer in the room and frankly the hereinafters, exclusions, and loopholes put her to sleep. Mark gets up on page two to go tend to the crying baby in the other room.
“I'm sorry about...that night,” Pierce tells her. “I shouldn't- I wasn't thinking clearly,” he says referring to their awkward evening of grief and inappropriate touching.
“It's fine,” she replies even though it's not.
“I wish I was better for them...Reagan was an amazing mother.”
“I'm sure she was,” Addison nods. She's got no clue, and there's no point in arguing.
“You're okay with all of this?” Pierce asks a few minutes later.
“I'm trying to do what's best for them,” Addison decides. “I think...this is what she would want.”
“Thank you,” he gulps unsteadily. “Maybe we can revisit-”
“No,” Addison declines. “This is it. If we go forward, from here on out this is where they belong. You have every right to change your mind in the next few days but after that- I won't jerk them around Pierce, they've been through enough. They need something stable.”
“I agree,” he says mournfully. It all could have been so different just a few short months ago. “I'll have my lawyer look over this, and I'll think on it, get back to you.”
Addison leaves the irony about a lawyer needing a lawyer unsaid and stands up, putting out a hand and receiving a strong hug.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Thank you,” Mark whispers in her ear, after they've both crawled into bed.
“I hate you,” she cries, tears staining her pillow, lungs trying to breathe in normally.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The first thing Mark hears are whimpers, low and short, coming from the other side of the room. His heart reacts first, surging to life, as his fingers fumble with the cord on the bedside lamp next to him. “Addison?” he murmurs, in case it's just another dream. He rolls over to find her wide awake. “It's time?”
“Something is wrong,” she tells him assuredly, as another wave of pain forces her to curl her toes and hunch back into the fetal position.
“Something is wrong...like labor or-”
“No, you need to call 911.” Her voice is calm, betraying her body, making Mark question everything and waste time.
“Well, if it just hurts Addison, I can drive you in. Or I can call Naomi-”
“Or,” she slams her teeth together suddenly, “you can call for an ambulance.”
“I can get you there, can you walk? Do I need to carry you?” He stumbles to the ground, straightening out his boxers and reaching for a spare shirt thrown haphazardly over the chair.
“Call the damn ambulance Mark,” she orders, in a tone that makes him snap to. “Tell them I have intense abdominal pain and...” she stops angrily as he takes her hand, encouraging her to breathe through the impossible anguish. “And my water broke-”
He reaches for her legs, hidden under the blankets. “Are you dilated?” He pulls back the sheets to find another pool of blood, and his head tells him that they have got to stop doing things her way.
“What?” Addison asks his face frightening her, hoping against all odds that this will be an uncomplicated, fast labor.
“Where's a phone?”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“What's happening!” Mark yells anxiously at Charlotte King, pacing the waiting room floor after being kicked out of the trauma bay.
“My team thinks there's a placental abruption, we won't know how bad until we get in there.”
“In there,” Mark stumbles.
“It's time,” Charlotte pats his shoulder. “Get suited up Sloan.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Mark,” Naomi orders, staring at the tall man pasted to the window in front of him. “Mark.”
“What?” he replies, not turning around to look at her, instead choosing to focus on the moving lips of the many doctors in the room before him.
“She's alright.”
“You don't know that.”
“I have faith,” Naomi corrects.
“Maybe you should go in there,” he says softly, motioning toward the operating room. “She'd want you.” And she hates him, it's the least he could do, considering the night's events.
“No, she'd want you,” Naomi smiles. “That's where you need to be. And I'm here when you are done. We'll handle it all together, no matter what, okay?”
Mark tries to roll his eyes at her motherly pep-talk but fails, wanting the reassurance more than he'll admit. Possibly broken babies and life threatening problems with the woman he loves are kind of pushing his threshold today. “Yeah.”
“You better get in there before it's over,” she smiles and gives him a quick nudge before hustling up to the gallery, the very same one she watched a close friend and patient die in a few months before. Nature likes to mock them.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
He's vaguely aware of the day, February 27th, Derek's birthday, as he stumbles into the OR. They'll be born today, of that there is no doubt. He's scuttles along slowly, knowing they've begun prepping her without him but not okay with letting her be in there all alone, even if she is knocked out. Part of him is too terrified to take another step forward, to watch them rip her apart, and yet another section is excited. They've been a long time coming, even if they are early and he can only hope against all odds that they come out healthy.
His hands dry, red scrubs intact, he joins them and looks down until he finds the head of the table. He wishes she were conscious. He wants this to be the thing that slams her into motherhood heart first, needs for her to not feel robbed of the experience. He rationalizes that she understands the circumstances, and the logic behind the medical procedure but he isn't sure that Addison the mother (when and if she ever comes into play) will be alright with never having heard their first breaths, their first cries. Never having witnessed their first kicks and flails.
Maybe he can log it well enough in his memory to share if she is ever inclined to ask.
“I'll have them out shortly Dr. Sloan,” the young woman, younger than both he and Addison, tells him confidently. He doesn't know who she is, her background, her medical training, and yet here she is holding his future in her possibly unskilled hands. He nods, head feeling like lead, and watches the first of two be successfully “birthed”. Then the second, and they are whisked away, the murmurings not low enough so that he doesn't hear. They didn't cry or flail, and not having Addison's capable mind being the one that is preparing to treat them scares him more than the rest of it.
“I've got a while here, but she's stable,” the woman perks up again, without looking at him. “You're free to check on them at any point. Dr. King says you two are important.”
If he had the guts he'd look over and make sure she's doing her job right, but it's all been a quick blur, and the little incubators are gone with the unfortunately sick children. He's stuck like cement so he swallows the thickness in his throat and mumbles back, “I need to stay with her.”
He takes to stroking her soft hair, the color apparently not inherited by the twins, when they order another bag of blood hung up.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Full placental abruption,” Charlotte announces, dropping a chart on his lap, as he watches nurses fuss over the two little girls he already adores. “Montgomery goes all out.”
“Yeah,” Mark nods, sifting through the pages. “She awake yet?”
“No, she'll be coming out of anesthesia soon though, I'll have them page you.”
“How are they?” he asks, pointing to the separate incubators.
“Could be better,” Charlotte admits, having paid closer attention than she'd let on. “They have names?” she asks before continuing, having found that people don't really appreciate the alphabetical labeling system of their children. “Baby A, born first, weighs only 3 pounds and 5 ounces. Baby B 3 pounds, 1 ounce. They're pretty underweight Sloan.”
Mark closes his eyes slowly. He saw it coming, but he didn't think they'd be this small, little veins poking out, eyes taped shut. He's pretty sure he could hold one in his open palm.
“They're are having difficulties breathing among other things,” she explains as he stares at all the tubes. “Dr. Sloan,” Charlotte clears her throat.
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“You should...maybe prepare yourself for the possibility that...they may not make it.”
His head turns in confusion toward the short blonde in the doorway. Surely they aren't that bad. “Dr. King-”
“We're doing everything we can. I'm sorry,” Charlotte nods, and wanders off to find something less wrecking to deal with.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Those are not Mark's children,” Cooper observes immediately, taking a punch to the side from Violet.
“No,” Pete agrees, looking toward Sam and Naomi for an answer. If they had to rush down here at one in the morning to stare at sick babies then he wants to be clued in.
“They aren't Mark's,” Naomi reluctantly divulges. “Do not ask Addison,” she orders.
“Derek,” Violet breathes out, remembering that delicious hair anywhere.
“No one says anything to her...or Mark, it's a sore subject,” Naomi demands again protectively.
“I bet,” Violet snorts.
“Her ex-husband?” Cooper asks.
“Dead ex-husband,” Pete clarifies and then steps closer toward the glass.
“Man,” Cooper breathes out slowly.
“I thought...but they were divorced,” Sam adds in, completely confused, and upset that Naomi didn't tell him.
“Stuff happens,” Violet says, pointing at both of them.
“But she's with Mark now,” Sam says, talking to himself. “You think he's just there because-”
“No,” Naomi cuts him off. “He wants to be with her.”
“What a mess,” Cooper exclaims, leaning against the wall sleepily.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison...God, would you just say something. Anything,” Mark mumbles, mostly to himself, his hands scrubbing over his face. But she stares forward wordlessly, tears clinging to her eyelashes, threatening to pour over at any moment.
“Hey,” Naomi greets softly, joining them after making Charlotte clear everyone so they could go visit her new god-daughters. She pats Addison's leg gently as she slumps onto the mattress, forcing herself into the redhead's personal space.
“Hey,” Mark sighs dejectedly. He'd really like some sort of response so he could go check and worry over the girls again. Six hours and counting (including the horrifying surgery experience) and there's been nothing but sadness out of the person next to him. No words, no screaming, no questions.
Naomi pulls down the blanket Addison has a death grip on and chuckles, trying to ease the tension. “You realize you are the woman the rest of us hate? Pre-baby weight within the first few weeks is unfair. You remember me with Maya...” she trails off sensing everyone in the room is uninterested and somewhere else but still needing to fill the space with noise. It's too much to simply be quiet.
Addison swallows roughly, coming to terms with the last twenty-four hours. She's empty, literally and metaphorically. She has nothing to offer the situation and her children are in capable hands that she can't oversee or complain about. Stuck, head pounding with anticipation, numbing gradually wearing off, pain slowly trying to seep in, she waits. Waits for someone to say something real, to stop dancing around the issues at hand. She's not incompetent or unaware and right now all she has are worse case scenarios floating through her mind and no one stroking her palm supportively because they are all afraid she's going to lash out when all she actually wants to do is curl into a ball and cry.
Naomi leaves again, saying something about it getting late/early, and needing to pick Maya up and get her to school but if you asked either of the people left they wouldn't be able to repeat it thirty seconds later.
“Addison,” Mark grunts again, mindful to stay away from her. “Do you need anything? Are you in pain?”
When she doesn't answer he storms out of the room unhelpfully, letting the door latch loudly as he goes.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“She's been through a lot Mark, physically and emotionally,” Naomi tells him, as he walks her to the parking lot.
“I know,” he sighs loudly, the need for sleep beginning to set in. “I want to know what she's thinking, she won't talk.”
“Having been through the experience of childbirth, she's probably all over the place. It was traumatic, we're fortunate she...we're just fortunate that it went well.”
“Yeah,” he agrees as her car keys jingle in hand, nurses and doctors headed toward the hospital to switch shifts. Lonely family members and friends lining the sidewalk for visiting hours.
“I have to get Maya, but you need to be there for her. No losing your cool, no running out,” her voice picks up accusing him of the other night. “Be there for when she needs you, because she will.”
“They look like Derek,” he chokes out as she begins to climb into her vehicle.
Naomi reaches out and squeezes Mark's hand tightly. She, among the many, continuously forgets how difficult this is for him. He's good at putting up a front. She scrambles for something to say and settles on a sad frown before pulling away and wishing him luck. It would seem they could all use a bit more of that today.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Violet saunters into the room hesitantly. Certainly, she and Addison are not the best of friends, hell they haven't much gotten off on the right foot, but she was requested so she slips into a chair and stares at the redhead waiting. “Sam said you wanted-”
“I don't feel anything,” Addison says suddenly, her first words of the day.
“I'd say that's a good thing considering,” Violet jokes.
“Not physically,” Addison corrects, because the numbness is beginning to slowly give way to a pain that even the drugs they have her on can't quite block out. “I-I don't feel anything.”
“Okay,” Violet assesses. “It's been a long night, maybe some rest-”
“I don't feel like a mother,” Addison laughs cynically. “I just...feel empty.”
“Why do you think that is?” Violet asks, scooting a little closer, enthralled with being able to examine this woman.
“I don't know.”
“I think you do,” Violet presses further.
“What if they die?” Addison asks quietly. “What if...it happens all the time.”
“Do you think you'd feel more...attuned if they were perfectly healthy?”
“I don't know, maybe,” Addison sighs. She still hasn't been able to hear anything concrete on how they are doing, only that they are sick enough to warrant staying put. “I always wanted to be a mother. I always- with Derek, and Mark- I couldn't.”
“Do you regret this?” Violet asks carefully.
“Yes,” she answers quickly, blowing Violet back. She thought she'd get the standard answer of how Addison still loves them but doesn't feel anything but instead she got honesty. “I'd do it differently- I wasn't in a good...place, I'm not in a good place.”
Violet bites her lip not knowing how far to push, when the tears begin to fall she decides it's time to back the heck off. Addison is not a patient, she's a co-worker, and one that Violet doesn't know that well yet. “It's okay,” she offers sheepishly.
“Not-okay,” Addison replies, the back of her hands brushing her cheeks. “I don't want them! That's not okay.”
“I think,” Violet grabs one of her shaky hands, “if you get some rest, you may feel differently.”
“I thought,” Addison cries, “if- when they were here, I would feel something finally. I want to feel again.”
Of course Mark chooses that exact moment to shuffle through the door, looking like someone kicked his dog. Violet gathers her things and excuses herself to let them deal with it. Surely, he is better equipped to handle her craziness.
“Hey, hey,” Mark says soothingly, guiding her back against the pillows gently. He takes the fraction of an inch of mattress next to her and waits it out. He brushes her knotted hair back, securing it poorly with a hair tie from the bag by his feet (the same one he hurriedly packed weeks ago and managed to remember this trip), so it stays out of her way. She squirms around uncomfortably until she can settle her head against his shoulder, urging him to lie down with her. When he complies the sobs turn to sniffles, eyes drifting shut slowly. She's exhausted and run ragged, and he knows she gets more emotional when that happens. Same goes for him.
“I'm sorry,” Addison squeaks through her tired voice. “I'm sorry Mark.”
“Not a thing,” he assures her, hand slipping inside her flimsy gown and rubbing the soft skin of her back.
“You're too good for me,” she whispers drowsily a few minutes later. Mark's face contorts itself into a small smile, echoing her sentiments, relishing with pride. He never thought the day would come where he would be good for her, let alone too good.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Montgomery,” Charlotte screeches, waking both partners in the bed. “Morning,” Charlotte smiles.
“Hrmph,” Mark groans, feeling Addison begin to stir.
“I have good news and bad news,” Charlotte continues undaunted.
“Okay.” Mark's heartbeat nearly leaps through his chest in worry.
“Good news is they're both off the vents now, and I don't foresee any problems there. Bad news is Montgomery spiked a post-op fever of 103, nice work, so I'd like to keep her in here a little longer, as a precautionary measure.” Charlotte will not have the hooligans from Oceanside on her ass because her star surgeon develops an infection.
Mark nods slowly, Addison still not really awake next to him. “Is she-”
“She'll make a full recovery Sloan, just a precaution.”
“And they-”
“Are fighters,” Charlotte says with pride. “They are definitely fighters.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Hear that?” Mark whispers after Charlotte leaves them a few leaflets from charts to fawn over. He'd reach down for one but then they'd both have to move.
“Yeah,” Addison yawns, carefully adjusting herself. Once she's settled she takes the opportunity, “I'm sorry about earlier-”
“No apologies,” Mark stops her. “It's hard.”
“It is,” Addison nods, noting that Violet was dead wrong, and she still can't drudge up any maternal instincts.
Mark leans forward grabbing the pages and begins to read them thoroughly. It's still touch-and-go but they are looking better. He gives each scribbled outline to Addison as he finishes, letting her devour the stats and changes.
As she reads through the charts of Baby A and Baby B she feels a distinct tickle of something new in her stomach. The butterflies of guilt swarm and swoop. She didn't do her job correctly, they're too little, too sick. And now she's stuck in a bed for the foreseeable future. She inhales loudly and decides to stop reading, it was better to not know before.
“They'll be alright,” Mark assures her once he's done. It is their only option. No one will survive another death.
“Yeah,” Addison agrees, closing her eyes tight, sealing herself off once again.
He slides from the bed expertly, searching for his shoes. He needs to go see them. It's been four hours since he last checked and major developments have arisen. He brushes a quick kiss to her temple and weighs the outcome of saying it before giving in, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
And with that, a huge smile for having heard it the first real time, and a quick bounce in his step, Mark exits the room to go check on his other girls.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~