(no subject)
Title: Almost There, Going Nowhere
Part: 40/?
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.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Now we're stuck in this together
And I don't think I can run
From the ties that you have started
From the sins that we've become
"Please Don't Go" - William Fitzsimmons
~-~-~-~-~-~
"We're never going to sleep again," Addison whispers against Mark's bare chest, her voice barely registering over the screams a few feet away. A small part of her takes part in the victory dance, she did say this would happen after all. Then again, she was speaking about both of them being home and annoying. But that's neither here nor there.
"I'm too old for this," Mark grumbles, rolling away from her, learning after the first two times that Addison isn't going to make a move for Charlotte. He understands her hesitance, but he's tired and cranky and he really wishes she'd step the hell up so they could take turns swaying around the room trying to figure out what's wrong this time instead of just him being stuck with the inconsolable, heart breaking screeches. Not even Kennedy sounded like this. Tortured, he'd swear.
Addison hasn't closed her eyes since they got into bed, her eyelashes brushing against his taut muscles with every blink. The baby in Mark's arms was fed an hour ago, changed the hour before that, and has slept approximately two hundred minutes out of the night, minutes she watched painfully tick off the alarm clock. She stares at him in the dim light cast over the room, a warm yellow glow illuminating a scene she once would have swooned over for days in another life. Charlotte, in her meager weight, looks like a doll. A red-faced, flailing, angry doll that is.
Addison has heard the horror stories from her own (step)mother, the tales of how she was needy and temperamental, a force to be reckoned with since day one. Or technically day seventeen, when her father gained full custody and her real mother shipped off to an unknown location, never to interfere. Then again, leaving her in the questionable care of Judith, was something that the court should have taken into account before they decided that her biological secretary of a mother wasn't good enough. Regardless, things appear to be coming full circle. Rounding in the high pitched noises that bounce off her ear drums, the cringing, and the chant of 'make it stop' that keeps floating through her head.
"She doesn't want me," Mark says loudly, praying that this nonsense doesn't wake up Kennedy or God forbid Ellie, who needs all the sleep she can get lately.
"Maybe she's hungry," Addison mumbles back, rolling over and sitting up to face him.
"Just hold her," Mark urges. He has a nagging feeling that the connection that Charlotte wants is with her mother, or her sister, both of whom are presently unavailable. And as his best efforts continue to fall short, the feeling of failure and subsequent panic mounts.
"I-" Addison begins but then decides not to finish with that she can't, because she can, she's just continuously choosing not to hold her daughter. It doesn't feel like the right timing, she feels like an impostor. "Maybe, put her right here again," Addison instructs, smoothing the comforter down. She can handle Charlotte in front of her, letting her playing with her fingers until she gets sleepy once more.
Mark obeys, not because he wants to, but because he thinks anything that could stop the screaming should be fully pursued. Charlotte kicks the empty air, landing on her back, one of her little purple (mismatched, thanks to Mark) socks coming dangerously close to falling off. Old Addison would have already had Charlotte pressed against her, singing softly, dancing in the moonlit room. New Addison is gently talking herself into touching the baby, her hand hovering over the white material covering Charlotte's stomach. Mark surrenders first, giving the baby a finger to hold while looking around the bed for a discarded pacifier.
"It's...here," Addison offers the yellow plastic up, plopping it into Mark's waiting palm instead of giving it to the baby herself. There's an invisible force field that she just can't seem to break into. She never thought she'd be this uncomfortable around her own children. Or any child for that matter.
Mark watches Charlotte concentrate on sucking and clenching his finger simultaneously, a feat he's sure. How she manages to whimper pitifully with her mouth full is beyond him but she does for over twenty minutes, until he just wants to pick her up and plop her against Addison, holding her in place if he must. He's surprised how needy she is, how clingy. But he's never really done this before so it's mostly just exhausting.
He falls asleep before he even has time to think about closing his eyes. Addison never does.
~-~-~-~-~-~
On their third day of walking nightmares, Mark drops Ellie at school and nearly dozes off at the wheel before stumbling into the house and collapsing on the couch, the television distant noise. But no sooner does respite come than do the cries from upstairs. He waits ten minutes to see if Addison going to do anything and then angrily marches up only to find her bent over the bassinet that he placed Charlotte in over an hour ago. "Please stop," he hears her whisper, Kennedy making work of the pile of toys on the floor by her feet.
He swoops in to save the day, yet again, Addison trying to casually lean against a wall and hide her shaking hands.
"Sit down," he demands.
"Mark-"
"Sit the hell down," he repeats forcefully, way beyond aggravated.
"Don't talk to me like that," Addison warns meekly. She's not doing it this way. She'd yell back but she lost the energy pre-requisite for that days ago.
"Addison, I'm tired and for as much as I love you- just sit down," he says once more, pointing at the unused chair in their bedroom that generally holds discarded clothing and lonely halves of outfits. He doesn't even blink when the tears build in her eyes and she refuses to budge. Gently, juxtaposing his tone and demeanor, he lays Charlotte down on the bed and sidesteps Kennedy who hasn't even looked up during their squabbling. The child loves chaos, he is positive.
"You have to try in order for it to get better," Mark explains, grabbing her arm tightly and easily moving her toward the chair. He stands in front of her, the back of her legs nudged up against the clean fabric, daring her to stay upright.
She flinches when he kisses her forehead, and he can't say that he blames her. The mood swings out of everyone in the house have been completely unbearable. Surprisingly, Kennedy seems to be the least affected. Mark's theory is that she enjoys having someone else to share the duty of being noisy at all times with. "You can do this."
"I can't," Addison replies coldly, enraged by his ridiculous treatment. He's been hot, frigid and everywhere in between since Charlotte came home. And she still hasn't managed sleep. Her brain is a hot-wired mess of confusion and clouds, her body dripping with used up power.
"You can and you will," Mark demands, turning away from her to get the baby that she painstakingly brought into this world. The baby who she wouldn't speak of for fear that it would set something off. Charlotte who has ceased crying maybe ten times since he's known her, is back at it again and the inside of his skull feels like it is being branded with a cattle prod, he can feel his brain cells surrendering. He can sense Addison burning a hole in the back of his neck, her eyes fixed in a permanent glare as she refuses to lift her arms to support the baby when and should he choose to set her down. She's statuesque, jaw tightened, arms stiffened in fear.
So he takes the responsibility of cradling Charlotte against her mother on his own, tenderly pushing them together until Addison's hand flinches out of natural reaction and comes up to support Charlotte's hatless head full of dark hair, her other arm winding itself along the baby's back.
"See?" Mark grins proudly, Charlotte quieting instantly against the heartbeat that she has known her entire life. He was right, but it's going to come at an unbearable cost. He's saving one and risking the other. Not something he took into account before survival mode kicked in.
"Get out," Addison seethes, clenching her teeth, fingers painfully still. She's afraid to move an inch to the left, to the right. She doesn't want to stand, but she doesn't want to be locked into sitting here all day either.
It wasn't supposed to be like this- forced and wrought with emptiness. She wanted it on her own terms, when she was ready. She wanted tiny bursts of explosions, something so deep it moved her to tears. She wanted to hold her child and know that she would rather die than have something endanger the life that she loves beyond identity, beyond understandable terms.
But it's not there. Nothing relaxes into that carefully allotted space that she's been saving for this exact moment, taunting and teasing.
"Get out," she repeats, a little louder this time.
"Addison, I was trying to help," Mark elaborates, but the cement still fashion of her form tells him that he isn't going to get anywhere logical with her.
Addison finds Charlotte's struggling eyes as Mark's feet hit the first step. She's seen the baby a hundred times in the last three days. She's heard her even more than that, and touched her a few select instances. Thick hair by the tons, tiny fingers, a rounded stomach and spindly legs. They're all features she recognizes, that her brain tells her belong to her. But now, all six pounds in hand, is the experience she has been dreading.
She feels absolutely nothing, forced or otherwise.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Some women have a hard time connecting. Addison hasn't had the opportunity to really bond-"
"She has," Mark interrupts, because he's not about to continue on in this fantasy where Addison is a blameless victim. It's a problem, yes. It's one he's willing the work through with her, yes. But he won't do it if they aren't going to be truthful about the events that have taken place.
"There's a lot going on," Violet diverts.
"She's on something...I don't know what, she said it was helping, and...I don't know. One minute she's herself, the next she's gone somewhere. She can't focus," Mark groans, turning the volume down on the television so he can hear himself think. After Addison kicked him out he thought a nap may be the best avenue of choice, but then the doorbell rang and it's been downhill ever since.
"It takes a while," Violet says warmly. "Give it time. Be patient. I trust Jake, you should too."
"Who?"
"The therapist I recommended to Addison, Jake Atwater, his practice is down the street-"
"She's seeing someone?"
Violet keeps herself in check, avoids the eye roll that is begging to break free. She's starting to think that maybe rotating turns on who stops by on their lunch (Sam, and Naomi the days before, Cooper and Dell later) may have not been the best game to participate in, not that it was a choice. "Mark, it's not important. Sometimes people are ashamed, it's...the important thing is that she's getting help, that she wants to receive help. That's huge...some people never are able to even take that step."
"Yeah, I guess," Mark agrees, scratching the back of his head. And because he's human, he can't help but wonder what else she's been hiding. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore."
"Mark," Violet repeats sternly, catching the brief flash of anxiety swipe over his face. "She needs you. She needs support."
"I know," Mark replies halfheartedly. And in one turn there is nowhere else in the world he would rather be, but in another this is starting to wear him down. Still, Violet has to say that Addison needs him, heaven forbid Addison herself let on to that little fact. And for as strong as a front as he puts up, slowly but surely he is being whittled away. He can't pretend that she says "I love you too" every time she looks the other way when it needs being said. He can't keep ignoring that she'd rather hide in the bedroom than come downstairs and participate in anything that could be construed as family related. And he can't help but notice that the ring he selected is no longer residing on her finger, that she hasn't mentioned a word about the wedding she should be freaked out about planning.
When he finally escapes Violet, after assuring her that he would tell Addison to call her (or Jake, because word of mouth is quick and apparently Addison has missed every single session they arranged for), Mark tiptoes back upstairs. He winces as the bedroom door swings back with a loud creak, but is relieved to find Addison curled up on the bed, Kennedy laying with her, slobbering on a chunk of her hair. Addison however is not actively engaged in what is happening because if she was she'd realize that her precious red locks are being drooled on and are matting, knotting under Kennedy's care.
He checks on Charlotte first because he can't not. It's habit. It's funny how life changes like that, he thinks. Months ago he was passed out on a hardwood floor, years before leaving bars with women whose names he still can't remember, if he even knew them in the first place. Now, he's kind of a father, and he's proud of that. He has that in this mess, and he won't let her take it away.
"I don't know what to do," Addison whispers, stealing her hair back and offering Kennedy a stuffed toy to chew on instead.
"About?" Mark questions, dipping down onto the bed, taking her usual side.
"I haven't slept in seventy some odd hours, I haven't showered. I don't remember the last time I ate something that you weren't practically forcing down my throat, and I don't know what day of the week it is anymore."
"Naomi said it's like this in the beginning. It'll get better," he tells her, not exactly believing it himself, but still taking her hand supportively, playing with the sprawled fingers above where Kennedy is lounging.
"I can't keep taking...it..." Addison gulps. Because she doesn't sleep. Because she can't think. But more importantly because holding her child for the first time felt similar to holding a block of concrete in her arms and trying to spark some sort of connection. She's had more of a rapport with babies she's just delivered than she did with Charlotte and it can't continue to be like this. If she is to get the dream life with the close to perfect family than she has to be able to love her child on another level, to want to be around her. "And I don't know what will happen when I stop."
"Close your eyes," Mark says gruffly, his voice scratchy from overuse.
"You think I haven't tried that?" Addison snaps back, pressing a palm into her forehead. "I want to sleep," she stresses, "I can't. Physically...I'm...I can't Mark, and I can't be around them like this. I don't remember what we had for breakfast, or lunch-"
"You didn't eat lunch," Mark remarks, looking over her shoulder at the alarm clock. "It's only 10 Addison."
"See?" Addison huffs, throwing her arms above her head, accidentally whacking them against the firm headboard. "It's...I can't operate like this, literally, I cannot see patients this way."
"We don't have to worry about that for a while," he reminds her, not liking the shocked face he gets in return. They haven't really discussed how much time she's taking off, and nothing has been drifting through the halls of the practice lately so he figures they're safe for a few more weeks. He hears her sigh at the ceiling before he finds something else to say. It's not like there is a quick fix here. "We can go...there, see Jake-" he pauses when her eyebrows rise in question, "Violet mentioned...maybe he has something different."
She can feel her face falling in defeat, a hand rising to nervously twist her wet hair. "He'll want to talk, and I can't talk because I'm not sleeping and I can't think like a normal human any longer."
"Addison-"
"I'm a zombie. A useless zombie," she decides dejectedly, rolling away from him, facing the bassinet that she has come to loathe.
"You aren't-"
"I don't even want to touch her Mark, what kind of a mother doesn't-never mind."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thanks," Mark mumbles, carefully cradling Charlotte and simultaneously shutting the front door behind his guests. "She's...up there," he points toward the sky and sinks down on the couch where he is practically living, fumbling for the bottle on the end table.
"You go," Violet asserts, nodding at Naomi with a comforting smile. "I'll come up when you're done." Violet clears her throat when their coworker disappears. "Mark, what happened?"
"I need to go get Ellie," he murmurs, offering Charlotte to Violet. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I don't know how to do this," Violet calls after him as he grabs the keys off the kitchen counter.
"She's forgiving," Mark smiles at the pair. Hell, he's managed to dress her right maybe once, but she's a pretty good sport about all his shortcomings. Aside from the crying, he'd say she's the most wonderful infant he's ever encountered. "And loud," he adds on for good measure, fair warning.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addie," Naomi states, poking her head into the room, her best friend curled up on the bed facing the large windows on the other side of the room. The blinds are drawn, the room encased in the effervescent orange gleam from the sun's rays trying to gain access.
Addison frowns as she feels the bed shift under the new weight, and suddenly her bangs are being brushed behind her ear, her head stroked repeatedly in the silence.
"You know, the first day I was alone with Maya, the first day Sam left me to go get food...I almost dropped her. Head first. And Sam came home, and I was a mess, Maya was fine, but...I may as well have dropped her, because I felt...awful. Horrible. And I remember thinking that there was no way I was going to be able to do this, what a disaster I had gotten myself into. For a long time," Naomi pauses, noting no change in Addison, "I was so sure I was going to be a failure, that I would break her or harm her...but you get the hang of it."
"You're an amazing mother Nae," Addison says without thought. Naomi is the mother, nurturing, giving. Nothing like Addison has known but everything she wants to be.
"Well, not quite, but...I do my best. That's it Addie, give it what you've got, and the rest, it'll come."
Addison rolls over, instantly missing the contact she's broken. "I don't feel anything. When I hold...her, it's like...someone else's baby."
"She's definitely yours, have you heard the set of lungs she has?" Naomi deflects. That wasn't the real issue. Charlotte King would have killed someone if there was a weird baby swapping incident.
"I need Derek," Addison croaks, taking the pillow from behind her head and burying her face in it. Suffocating doesn't sound like such a horrible thing right now, she'd finally get some rest.
Naomi swallows heavily, buying time. She's shocked how much the thought of Derek being dead still cuts, how deep it runs for her, how much worse it must be for not only Addison but also Mark. "You don't need him Addie. You're stronger than this, I know you. I know you don't need a man-"
"He never got to see them, hold them Nae, he never got a chance...and...I don't...I can't. This is so..." Addison stops herself before it all begins again. She'd trade spots, lie in his grave, if that were possible. He'd be better for them.
"He's," Naomi exhales, "I have to believe...he's seen them. He's here," Naomi says foolishly, pressing her hand against her friend's chest.
"He's dead," Addison says stiffly. "And...what do I say when they ask why they look like no one in this family? What do I say, 'Oh, yeah. Mark's not really your dad he's just the guy I cheated on your father with...and then stayed with...and then got back together with after the divorce...and then your father and I...but then he died in a car crash....and now Mark's here again, but you can still call him Dad. Sorry your entire life has been a lie?'" That's her story, not theirs.
"It's complicated," Naomi acknowledges, "But...you have a few years before that will happen so why don't we shelve it, and work on what we can. One step at time, okay?"
And maybe her biggest problem has been this. The accumulation of questions, concerns, fears until they are busting out of the neat little compartments she tries to shove them into. It's overwhelming, having Charlotte home, regardless of the fact that most of the forthcoming problems won't happen in the near future. It's that she's real, not stored in some hospital where Addison can talk herself into denial. No, Charlotte makes her presence known constantly, and it's much too much. With or without Mark. It nearly makes it worse, how at ease he is with this, with her.
She's falling apart, ripping at the seams, and he hasn't run off yet. That in itself is horrifying.
"I don't know where to start."
"I'm thinking a shower would be a good place," Naomi nods, taking in Addison's rumpled appearance.
"It's that bad?" Addison questions, wondering how Mark can stand it.
"No, but...you need a few minutes. So go take them, and then we'll work from there."
"Thank you," Addison grins wobbly, tears that refuse to fall still fresh in her eyes.
Naomi leans in for a tight hug explaining, "Violet is downstairs. I didn't think you wanted to see what's behind that door."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"She's been in there a while," Violet observes loudly, Naomi busy trying to get Charlotte down for a nap.
"She's fine, yes she is," Naomi urges, in a sing-song voice, cooing to Charlotte over the gentle hum of whatever Violet has selected to watch as they kill time. Naomi rubs the infant's cheek, her back, her stomach, trying to calm her into a land of fluffy white sheep and racing stars.
"No, she's not. I'm going to go check on her," Violet tells her boss, sneaking a peek at her watch, noting that Mark has been gone an awfully long time as well.
"Violet," Naomi says after a few seconds. "She's overwhelmed, and scared, and tired...and it's not you per se but I just don't think she can handle an interrogation about anything right now."
"I'm good at what I do," Violet clarifies with a hand in the air. Addison is...difficult for her. Being uncooperative is the main problem. She thinks she could get through to her if only the woman would stay still and listen for half a second. "Very good."
"It's not you," Naomi refutes. Addison needs gentle handling. She's fragile and sometimes Violet, when not in full fledged work mode can be abrasive and crass. It's like smashing a glass figurine with a rubber mallet, not exactly what the situation is calling for. And no one in this house needs Addison raising her voice about anything.
"She needs therapy," Violet states casually staring at the stairs, waiting for something to happen.
"Don't we all," Naomi nods convincingly.
"We should at least make sure she isn't dead."
"Violet-"
"You're mind hasn't gone there?" Violet dares. She saw the look on Naomi's face after Addison "accidentally" got hurt by an alleged piece of glass from a broken vase. She could read it on everyone in the room- Addison can be a danger to herself.
"I'll go," Naomi declares, trying to hand Charlotte back but Violet shrugs her off reminding her that she and children don't really click all that well, minus the one upstairs napping.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison gulps back a fresh batch of hormonal tears, citing the lack of rest and impending insanity as the culprits of her poor self-control. The robe covering her drying skin is cozy and inviting, her bed beckoning her to sit, and stay.
She hasn't moved in the longest time. Her shower took maybe ten minutes, and now she's stuck. She doesn't know how to get up and walk downstairs, she doesn't know how to face that, and more importantly she doesn't want to. What she wants to do is curl up into the tiniest ball possible and lay very still for an impossibly stretched amount of minutes.
She's felt regression since Charlotte came home, and in some sick perverted way she blames her helpless daughter for the landslide. Because the days before her arrival were scattered with smiles, and light kisses from Mark, and some stressed but still available rest. And now Mark is yelling, and she doesn't remember what it is to smile or sleep.
Slowly she turns into herself, the blackness driving her forward. Addison inches up further on the bed, her head landing as it will, three centimeters from the pillow, and she hasn't the strength to adjust or the capacity to care.
And then she waits. Waits for a relaxing force to take hold, to take pity, but it never seems to come when she wants it most. She watches the blinds quake and quiver under the gentle direction of new spring breeze, and imagines the life she should be having instead of the one she's bound to.
"Addison," Naomi whispers, peeping in behind the cracked door to find her friend presumably asleep. She leaves just as quickly as she came, because the nap is needed. Two down on her list, sleep and shower. On her way down the hall she finds Kennedy awake in her crib and plucks her from the spot singing about how she has gotten so big, and wondering when exactly it was that her own baby managed to grow up.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"She's really soft, like butter," Violet remarks, running her fingers over Charlotte's drowsy head, down along her neck, repeating over and over until her tiny eyes fall shut.
"Are you petting her?" Naomi asks, but the front door opening keeps the question from being answered.
"Bout time," Violet accuses, looking up at the jingling keys in Mark's right hand, his other wrapped firmly around a bouquet of brightly colored spring flowers that the florist said most women would love, "something for everyone in there" she said.
"I told you you could leave," Naomi reminds her, spread across the living room floor, playing with Kennedy and trying to remain as ladylike as possible. She's floored by the simple, yet advanced changes in the six month old as she tries to crawl across the rug, her bare knees scratching over the fabric.
"Thanks for staying," Mark mumbles, headed toward the kitchen with his prize, Elianna in tow. He spent the entire way there and back thinking of how he's ruined all of his progress with Addison. Trying to get her to open up only to tell her that she isn't trying hard enough. Forcing her on a delicate subject. He feels like an ass, par for the course in their relationship. But amends must be made, and though he still is resound in the fact that she wasn't trying and that she needed to hold Charlotte, he realizes now that he went about it the wrong way. He needed more tact. Hopefully, the flowers and some carefully worded groveling can repair the damage.
Mark searches for a vase, tearing through cupboards of glass, china, and crystal. Eventually he comes up empty handed. He doesn't know when their house turned into a mess of tiny cartoon cups and miniature versions of cutlery, but it has. He hears Ellie squeal to her Auntie Nae about how she got to help pick out the pretty flowers, hears her ask Violet to play dress up.
It's as good as time as any to escape unnoticed.
"She fell asleep about an hour ago," Naomi informs him as he starts for the stairs, not bothering to analyze why it is that Addison wouldn't be down here with her friends. It seems the most appropriate selection for her behavior lately.
"She's not asleep," Mark refutes, wound around the dark banister.
"She looked pretty asleep to me," Naomi shrugs before turning back to Kennedy, helping her stand on her own wobbly legs as she bounces up and down, her lilac dress catching the puffs of air as she moves, Ellie cheering her sister on a few feet away.
He would explain that Addison pretends to be asleep to evade conversations. He would tell her that Addison may be trying to sleep, but can't. And he would mention that she really hasn't first clue about her dearest friend anymore, but it's not important, so for once he discards a battle and climbs up without another word.
"Addie," he begins gently, noting that she is always managing to face away from him when things need to be said the most. "Look, I'm sorry...for this morning. I was an ass, and...I shouldn't have...done that. It won't happen again. Well, it'll probably happen...but I am sorry," he says, stumbling over a pair of her shoes as he rounds the bed. "You could at least open your eyes so you can see your present."
He nudges her shoulder when there is no fluttering of eyelids, moaning of limbs. One of her relaxed fists is wound in the mess of drying waves attached to her head, but the other one is curled around a very pink stuffed bunny that Kennedy was playing with, nay trying to digest, earlier. Her breaths are deep, even, her green robe coming untied, long legs sprawled over their unmade bed.
There's not a sweep of makeup on her face, she's barely clothed, and the red fingernail polish on her toes has long since started chipping, but Mark's thinks she's never looked more beautiful, and alternately more ridiculous cuddled up to a toy. He snatches a striped receiving blanket off of the dresser and covers what he can of her, just in case she gets cold. Then he places the flowers across the end table on her side, so when she wakes up she'll see them, and hopefully budge an inch in the other direction.
She really has finally succumb to unconsciousness, and he's never been more relieved.
"Ma-rk," he hears being grumbled as he tries to leave the room quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Come back," Addison murmurs, certain that she's not been out for more than ten minutes. The blackout sleep leaves her more disorientated than when she began the endeavor. She settles her head once more on the fluffy toy in front of her and waits for him to return, but she never feels his hot skin pressed against her, never feels his moist breath hiking along her neck. "Mark?"
"You should sleep, I shouldn't have woken you," Mark thinks aloud, looking oddly self-conscious and unsure. He hates that she turns him into a schoolboy with a crush, that the end of her may actually mean his certain demise.
She's always the unstable variable, they just never realized it beforehand.
"I'm up," Addison decides, accidentally biting down on her tongue, the bitter taste of blood drowning her mouth.
"But you shouldn't be," he recites, a record, a song, filing through the known lyrics. His perch on the bed is unexpected but not unwelcome. Addison rolls onto her back with a large sigh.
"Sleeping won't fix me Mark. I don't need rest. I'm not sick," Addison informs him, swallowing a mouthful of salty liquid. This is beyond what eight hours a night can repair. It's mental, and she is drained and the nap was excellent, but it won't make her feel a spark when she holds Charlotte; it won't stop her from wanting to pack up all of Ellie's things and throw her on the next flight out to San Francisco.
"We'll get through this."
"I'm trying."
"You keep saying that," he reminds her, glancing at his watch, seeing that Charlotte will probably be screaming here shortly about the lack of food in her stomach, that Ellie has a packet of homework that needs completing.
"You don't believe me." She doesn't blame him. They're halfhearted explanations. "I'm doing my best," she tacks on carefully after a few minutes of unwavering silence.
"Sleep," Mark whispers, climbing out of his spot and heading back to their guests and the circus that has become their home.
He doesn't believe her, but then again, neither does she.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"He hates me," Addison whispers, looking over her shoulder at Naomi and Mark drooling over Charlotte, and further back at the bustling practice she used to be a part of.
"He doesn't...I don't think he does," Violet stammers, watching the redhead sink down onto her couch, into her personal space. She has no idea why they are here parading around, she hasn't had the unfortunate adventure of running into Mark or Addison lately.
"I'm sorry," Addison mourns, slapping a hand to her forehead. The rest of week was rather uneventful, more of the same, but she knows that look in his eyes. She knows what disappointment is on someone's face, she's experienced it for the entirety of her life.
The one place she never thought it would belong is with Mark.
Because he adored her, and he didn't mind that she was arrogant and occasionally self-serving. She was better than him, morally, in the ways society liked to measure, and he admired her, once. Not now, she fears.
"Addison," Violet begins, on unfamiliar territory. This is Jake's patient, and she's not poaching the crazy, but the opportunity is present. "Is there a chance that maybe you...hate you? That maybe you're projecting this all onto Mark?"
It catches her off-guard, admittedly, the straightforward fashion of Violet's question. Everyone has been so busy tiptoeing around her that it's startling, and it steals her breath for a good five minutes.
"I was going to be a good mother," Addison starts, holding her hand up when Violet tries to get a leading word in, "I was ready- well not ready when it happened- the way it happened. But in my life, I was ready for children. I wanted someone to chase around the house, I wanted parent-teacher conferences and poorly worded flyers on head lice."
Addison catches Violet cringe and run her fingers through the curly mess atop her shoulders as her own lungs take a big gulp of air, hands shaking in her lap. "I wanted a reason to wake up on Christmas, to wake up any day of the week frankly...and I feel like...that's been stolen from me. I have it, I can't appreciate it. It's been taken from me and..." she laughs at the incredulous display of self-pity she's displaying. "there's no one to blame, except me."
"Addison it's-"
"It is. It's my fault I can't hold my daughter, and my fault that Mark questions every decision I make about my nieces. He thinks I'm insane, he doesn't trust me, and that's my fault."
Instead of diving into the wealth of information, the proverbial pot of gold Addison has just tossed out onto the table, Violet asks the obvious, because her nerves are disconcerting, and she's pale, not just from staying inside day after day. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," Addison groans, spilling from her lips without second thought.
"It's just...you don't look fine," Violet offers awkwardly, shifting closer.
"I...stopped, it's side effects, but I'm fine. I'm good," Addison dismisses. God, she can finally form a coherent thought again. And yes, it's painful, and she feels like throwing up every ten seconds as her body withdrawals, but this was the right choice.
"Stopped...taking your prescribed-"
"Yes, I couldn't...I wasn't sleeping-"
"You have a new baby," Violet scoffs, but she doesn't know that Addison isn't the one getting up for late night feedings, for three a.m. diaper changes.
"I couldn't think." Addison taps her skull.
"You can't just stop-"
"Violet, I'm a world class neonatal-" Addison cuts herself off as she races for the trash can. The 'I told you so' look she receives as she loses the oatmeal Mark practically forced her to eat is not welcome or wanted, but more than warranted. She knew the consequences, she just thought this would be better than what she was dealing with before.
In hindsight, as Violet shoves her into Pete's office for some voodoo holistic therapy, something that won't make her fuzzy and will allow sleep, she realizes that she should have known better.
It's just another notch, another strike, another failed attempt on her part.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You know, you really shouldn't have done that. There are warnings for a reason-" Pete stops at Addison's upturned hand, her eyes clenched shut as he pokes and prods around the office, wracking his brain for ideas. He has things for the nausea, for the aches, things that are naturally mood enhancing, but nothing in this room will cure Addison. She has to repair herself. "Did you consider switching the dosage or even the pills themselves? It takes adjustment."
"Save the speech," Addison quips, taking advantage of his acupuncture table, needles hanging from her flesh as she "detoxifies". She figures she has at most twenty minutes before Mark realizes that she's missing and this all implodes, kamikaze style.
Pete uncaps a jar and sniffs inside, buying time. "Look, you don't believe in this anyway-"
"Can you fix me?" Addison asks seriously, fingering the edge of the bed nervously. "Make it so I can sleep?"
"You have a newborn, I can't fix that," Pete laughs, greeted only by silence. "If you would've dated me we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"I'm engaged," Addison reminds him, staring up at the ceiling. The least he could do is put up a poster for people to read or a bunch of glow in the dark stars in their appropriate stellar assignments.
"That stuck, huh?"
"Could you hurry up please?" He hears her shout as he pulls a few more jars down, grabbing bags off the shelf in front of him. He watches her nose try to curl as he explains what each thing does, how often to take it, and when to call him. He pats her shoulder and feels her cringe under his touch.
No, she's definitely not the same person she was when she arrived. Hell, he's not even convinced she's alive anymore, and he can't help but want to blame Mark for all of this.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to say," Addison warns Mark, lying down on her vacant office couch, the room collecting dust and intricate cobwebs every day it's not in use.
"You should have consulted me first Addison, I have a say in these things. I have an opinion."
"I'm doing what I have to," she says, pointing to the mounds of crap Pete gave her.
"And you'll be damned if anyone gets in your way-"
"It's not a big deal," Addison moans, his volume and pitch much to high for her headache, not to mention the sleeping children a few feet away.
"It is a big deal to me!" Mark yells, grappling with what Pete explained to him. Addison voted that her medication wasn't working. Addison decided she'd stop taking it cold turkey. Addison is an idiot.
"And I said I don't want to talk about it," Addison says forcefully.
"I'm not Derek!" Mark shouts suddenly. "You won't browbeat me into submission. I don't care if you don't want to talk about it, we promised each other that we wouldn't have that kind of relationship."
"Don't-"
"No, we talk about the hard things. We talk!" It's all they have really, all they've ever had. And yes, at the beginning it was annoying and she was whiny, but it's the foundation of the adulterous thing they built, and it can't be traded upon or altered. "We talk about your husband not loving you, and we talk about how our families suck, we talk about my stupid conquests, our commitment phobias."
It's not that there isn't truth in his words, honesty in his voice, it's that she doesn't want to hear it. Because there is nothing more to say on the subject, even if he is angry. What's done is done, so she continues to watch the bumpy patten of the lavender wall until it wiggles and moves out of illusion.
"I need this shit to work." Mark knocks on the wooden table housing all of Pete's potions and spices. "I need you to step up Addison because the system we have right now isn't working, and I'm not Derek. We won't ignore our problems until they fade into something bigger and worse. I need you to be better than what you are, than what you are attempting to be," Mark shrugs. "Because they deserve a mother, all four of them, and you deserve to finally have the family you've always wanted."
"Been working on that?"
"This is not a joke to me," Mark squeaks. Only this woman could make him so damn emotional, perhaps he is more like Derek than previously assessed. "I don't know how to do any of this without you. And I don't want to."
Before he can launch into nuclear mode, melting down his feelings about relationships and children and how he never wanted any of this and it's all her fault, because she didn't already know that, she stammers a wavering, "We're late."
~-~-~-~-~-~
It's been nearly two weeks since she stood in this very spot, willed her mind to just work with her on the magnanimous event. It's been eleven critically heartbreaking, soul-wrecking days with Charlotte at home, and now there will be another.
Another baby to deny, to avoid, to dance circles around but never with. Another mouth for Mark to feed, another set of squirming limbs for him to juggle. And in this moment, she hates that there are two of them.
Most people are elated, albeit nervous, but happy about receiving the news of twins, in her vast experience doing the telling. They want to dress them the same and name them the same, and know that they will forever have another half. But here she stands, lingering in the doorway, pure outrage filling her heart. To make matters completely and inevitably worse they are exact replicas. She can discern no difference in the pair, she's not meant to. And they will scream, and smell, and pull her hair. And Mark will know who is who by the end of the week.
Addison's not sure she ever will at this point.
"So, what's it gonna be Montgomery?" Charlotte King asks, pen poised and ready as Mark gently places B into her car seat, but not before stalling noticeably.
"I was...thinking," Mark jumps in when Addison's deer in headlights look gets too pathetic, "maybe Audrey. I know it's another A name, but they won't be calling you Addison anyway...and-"
"It's fine," Addison decides. They didn't speak in the car, but Mark can have this. They don't need a showdown over something that she doesn't really care about anyway. It's not Candy, or Lemon, or anything else ridiculous so it's fine. And he does need something, she realizes. Something to hang his hat on at the end of the day, and that accomplishment seems rooted in this very easy task.
"Charlotte, can I borrow you for a moment?" Addison asks, guiding her out of the room as Mark situates himself with the last pieces of paperwork. "I was planning on coming back to work-"
"She's just now going home," Charlotte points out rudely, but it isn't taken into account.
"...in about a week or so, I wanted to let you know when to expect me," Addison continues, undaunted by anyone's concern.
"What about boy toy in there?"
"I can't speak for Mark," Addison smiles forcefully and then removes herself to escort their entourage back to the car. It's serious effort to lug the three of them around, Kennedy latched onto her aunt, Mark with a baby hanging from each arm.
They make it out just in time to dash off to retrieve Ellie, Addison's head stuck against the jostling window, wondering if this is what her life is going to be now. School runs, play dates, and trying to fit work in between.
She wonders if it will ever reach a point where carting around her children will feel how she once hoped it would, instead of this nagging interference to her world.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I don't feel like a mother," Addison confides, staring at Mark with the twins, blankets strewn over the living room rug. He has been fun to watch, playing with their tiny feet. It's been a quiet morning, the ocean she's been observing particularly still outside. They seem to have, through many trial and error sequences, found a schedule for all eight hundred of their difficult children. But it still doesn't allow for much sleep, and over compensates with time for reflection.
Because this is the first conversation where she's said anything remotely substantial in weeks, almost since the twins were born, Mark is more than hesitant to turn around, but he does anyway. The words, however, fail him. He no longer knows how to support her, what she needs, when she needs it, how much to administer.
She's completely shattered them, and he allowed it.
"It's...I can't tell them apart," Addison gestures to Charlotte and Audrey, or vice versa because she has no idea. "And I don't know their cries. I don't remember their first baths, or first bottles. I wasn't there. And now...there's this hole. Huge, gaping, black hole. And I can't say that it exists because I wasn't...there for so long, because we can't know the effects of that, but I...don't feel anything toward them. I feel nothing, and it scares me. I'm scared it's never going to go away. I'm afraid that I will be exactly what my mother was because...I can't seem to be anything else right now."
"Ok," Mark nods. He can't understand. They're so wonderful, so amazing to just watch, that he doesn't get it. But she is talking, and that's a major step, Violet said, so he has to shut up. "Just shut your mouth and hear her out, no matter how crazy it is."
"Regardless, I need you to stop faulting me for something I have no control over."
"I don't-"
"You do, all the time," Addison stops him. "And it's not helping this...pass. You have to run to pick Ellie up and not ask me fifty times if I will be alright finding a new pair of socks in the event that one gets lost. I'm capable of doing things-"
"You wouldn't come downstairs!" Mark yells, waking up Audrey as she slips in and out of nap time.
"I'm past that, I feel like I'm past that," Addison illuminates, knocking her fists together loosely. She can carry out tasks, she just does them out of obligation, not desire.
Mark remains unconvinced on this front. She seems to be taking Pete's therapy to heart, is really applying what he gave her to work with, but on the other hand she refuses to set up an appointment with any therapist, including Violet. And he can't fix her when she gives with one hand and promptly takes with the other.
But she's communicating what she feels, and Mark notes a strong lift in his shoulders. He doesn't have to guess any longer, and that's somewhat freeing.
"I am so deeply sorry for what I've put you through Mark," Addison squeaks. She's always been sorry, it's just never getting them anywhere.
"I chose," Mark grunts, neglecting the tears that are clinging to her lashes. He hates that their talks always end in hysterics.
"I need you to trust me again," she pleads. "I need you to believe in me again because...I don't, and it's kind of terrifying to be this screwed up and all alone."
"I-" he begins but is cut short by the pager that has been lying dormant on the end table for weeks now. He looks it over quizzically before deciding that it's not just the batteries beginning to short out. "911."
"Go," Addison urges, throat surprisingly tight, burying her face in her sleeve. "We're fine here. Go."
"I can call them-"
"They wouldn't page you unless it was a real emergency Mark, you need to go." Addison smiles weakly, proud that something so monstrous occurred that he had to be called in, slightly envious that she didn't get a page too. She can't wait to get back in the saddle, back into a place where she's the hero, not the villain.
"We were talking," Mark tells her, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter.
"Don't worry, my craziness isn't going to be gone by the time you get back," she assures him, tightening her grip on the throw pillow in her lap.
True, Mark thinks, but her willingness to speak about it may be out the window. He has to take every advantage that he has.
"They need to be fed in an hour." Mark points at the twins. "And the one on your right is Audrey, she's in yellow, and she likes when you sing to her. And you have to feed Charlotte first because she'll get angry if she has to wait, she's impatient. And Ken should be waking up soon-"
"Making this worse," Addison chimes in. She really needs him to walk out the door minus all afterthoughts, all details, even if she doesn't know any of this information.
"And if I'm not back in time, Ellie has to be picked up at-"
Addison strides toward the door, pushing his strong back along the way, shoving his leather jacket into his hands. "Have a nice day at work Mark."
"Thank you," he beams, kissing her temple, and practically skipping to the car. He's missed this just as much as she has, and while the late night feedings are completely worth it, there's nothing quite like saving someone's life. It's a different rush. Plus, if he had to be completely candid, he could use a break from all the estrogen, specifically Addison.
He needs to regroup. He needs a plan. And he's never as clear as when he's scrubbing out of another amazing procedure.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Ok," Addison says aloud, prepping herself. "I can do this. I can." She shrugs and sinks back down onto the couch, reaching for the remote. She nearly jumps halfway off the couch at the first crackling of noise from the baby monitor that was left discarded, in Mark's haste, ten feet from the living room. She exhales loudly and takes off after the stairs to fetch the missing puzzle piece of this dysfunctional group. But as soon as she disappears she can hear distant cries coming from the other direction. Heaven knows they wouldn't want to give her an easy time after what she's done to them.
"Oh," Addison's nose crinkles in disgust. She has definitely not missed diapers. But moreover Mark shouldn't be allowed to dress these kids anymore she decides, lifting Kennedy free of her crib. "Orange is not your color," Addison tells her seriously, evaluating the giraffes littering the tiny dress that her niece is sporting. "Let's find something new."
She can hear the screams downstairs growing in distress as she rifles through the white dresser, Kennedy warmly pressed against her hip. She finds something purple that will do the trick and reaches the twins just in time for the doorbell to drag her away again. "Coming!" Addison yells, checking over her shoulder to make sure that the baby gate is still secured so the newly mobile Kennedy doesn't get anywhere she shouldn't be. "Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers- I said I'm coming!"
Without finishing her rhyme she grabs the infant within the closest vicinity and rushes to the impatient guest waiting outside. Addison flings the door back aggressively, causing it to smash against the wall loudly, startling the recently soothed baby in her arms. "Susan-" Addison gasps, peering behind her once mother in-law's shoulder to behold the devil. "Mother."
"We thought you could use some help," Susan explains, letting herself in, nodding in affirmation to herself as she scoops up Audrey and cuddles her close, breathing in her irresistible scent.
Addison backs herself against the wall with wide eyes as Judith strides into her life.
"Quite the mess you've made this time Addison," Judith whispers, progressing stoically into baby land, disgust eminating from her pores.
"Some help," Addison mutters, running her tongue along the roof of her mouth in thought. There's really only one way for this to go, as far as her side of the family is concerned, and it's not going to be pretty.
~-~-~-~-~-~
A/N: The original product of this chapter was almost 35 pages long, so a lot got cut, moved, and you will see it in the next chapter. And I am well aware that this has a very Addison, Addison, Addison feel to it, but Mark will have his moments coming up as well as Ellie. Also, while actual show seems to kill my inspiration every week (hence the monstrous wait here), Addison with that damn cat? Magic. Thanks for reading, maybe I'll actually manage to wrap this thing up before the year ends.
Part: 40/?
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.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Now we're stuck in this together
And I don't think I can run
From the ties that you have started
From the sins that we've become
"Please Don't Go" - William Fitzsimmons
~-~-~-~-~-~
"We're never going to sleep again," Addison whispers against Mark's bare chest, her voice barely registering over the screams a few feet away. A small part of her takes part in the victory dance, she did say this would happen after all. Then again, she was speaking about both of them being home and annoying. But that's neither here nor there.
"I'm too old for this," Mark grumbles, rolling away from her, learning after the first two times that Addison isn't going to make a move for Charlotte. He understands her hesitance, but he's tired and cranky and he really wishes she'd step the hell up so they could take turns swaying around the room trying to figure out what's wrong this time instead of just him being stuck with the inconsolable, heart breaking screeches. Not even Kennedy sounded like this. Tortured, he'd swear.
Addison hasn't closed her eyes since they got into bed, her eyelashes brushing against his taut muscles with every blink. The baby in Mark's arms was fed an hour ago, changed the hour before that, and has slept approximately two hundred minutes out of the night, minutes she watched painfully tick off the alarm clock. She stares at him in the dim light cast over the room, a warm yellow glow illuminating a scene she once would have swooned over for days in another life. Charlotte, in her meager weight, looks like a doll. A red-faced, flailing, angry doll that is.
Addison has heard the horror stories from her own (step)mother, the tales of how she was needy and temperamental, a force to be reckoned with since day one. Or technically day seventeen, when her father gained full custody and her real mother shipped off to an unknown location, never to interfere. Then again, leaving her in the questionable care of Judith, was something that the court should have taken into account before they decided that her biological secretary of a mother wasn't good enough. Regardless, things appear to be coming full circle. Rounding in the high pitched noises that bounce off her ear drums, the cringing, and the chant of 'make it stop' that keeps floating through her head.
"She doesn't want me," Mark says loudly, praying that this nonsense doesn't wake up Kennedy or God forbid Ellie, who needs all the sleep she can get lately.
"Maybe she's hungry," Addison mumbles back, rolling over and sitting up to face him.
"Just hold her," Mark urges. He has a nagging feeling that the connection that Charlotte wants is with her mother, or her sister, both of whom are presently unavailable. And as his best efforts continue to fall short, the feeling of failure and subsequent panic mounts.
"I-" Addison begins but then decides not to finish with that she can't, because she can, she's just continuously choosing not to hold her daughter. It doesn't feel like the right timing, she feels like an impostor. "Maybe, put her right here again," Addison instructs, smoothing the comforter down. She can handle Charlotte in front of her, letting her playing with her fingers until she gets sleepy once more.
Mark obeys, not because he wants to, but because he thinks anything that could stop the screaming should be fully pursued. Charlotte kicks the empty air, landing on her back, one of her little purple (mismatched, thanks to Mark) socks coming dangerously close to falling off. Old Addison would have already had Charlotte pressed against her, singing softly, dancing in the moonlit room. New Addison is gently talking herself into touching the baby, her hand hovering over the white material covering Charlotte's stomach. Mark surrenders first, giving the baby a finger to hold while looking around the bed for a discarded pacifier.
"It's...here," Addison offers the yellow plastic up, plopping it into Mark's waiting palm instead of giving it to the baby herself. There's an invisible force field that she just can't seem to break into. She never thought she'd be this uncomfortable around her own children. Or any child for that matter.
Mark watches Charlotte concentrate on sucking and clenching his finger simultaneously, a feat he's sure. How she manages to whimper pitifully with her mouth full is beyond him but she does for over twenty minutes, until he just wants to pick her up and plop her against Addison, holding her in place if he must. He's surprised how needy she is, how clingy. But he's never really done this before so it's mostly just exhausting.
He falls asleep before he even has time to think about closing his eyes. Addison never does.
~-~-~-~-~-~
On their third day of walking nightmares, Mark drops Ellie at school and nearly dozes off at the wheel before stumbling into the house and collapsing on the couch, the television distant noise. But no sooner does respite come than do the cries from upstairs. He waits ten minutes to see if Addison going to do anything and then angrily marches up only to find her bent over the bassinet that he placed Charlotte in over an hour ago. "Please stop," he hears her whisper, Kennedy making work of the pile of toys on the floor by her feet.
He swoops in to save the day, yet again, Addison trying to casually lean against a wall and hide her shaking hands.
"Sit down," he demands.
"Mark-"
"Sit the hell down," he repeats forcefully, way beyond aggravated.
"Don't talk to me like that," Addison warns meekly. She's not doing it this way. She'd yell back but she lost the energy pre-requisite for that days ago.
"Addison, I'm tired and for as much as I love you- just sit down," he says once more, pointing at the unused chair in their bedroom that generally holds discarded clothing and lonely halves of outfits. He doesn't even blink when the tears build in her eyes and she refuses to budge. Gently, juxtaposing his tone and demeanor, he lays Charlotte down on the bed and sidesteps Kennedy who hasn't even looked up during their squabbling. The child loves chaos, he is positive.
"You have to try in order for it to get better," Mark explains, grabbing her arm tightly and easily moving her toward the chair. He stands in front of her, the back of her legs nudged up against the clean fabric, daring her to stay upright.
She flinches when he kisses her forehead, and he can't say that he blames her. The mood swings out of everyone in the house have been completely unbearable. Surprisingly, Kennedy seems to be the least affected. Mark's theory is that she enjoys having someone else to share the duty of being noisy at all times with. "You can do this."
"I can't," Addison replies coldly, enraged by his ridiculous treatment. He's been hot, frigid and everywhere in between since Charlotte came home. And she still hasn't managed sleep. Her brain is a hot-wired mess of confusion and clouds, her body dripping with used up power.
"You can and you will," Mark demands, turning away from her to get the baby that she painstakingly brought into this world. The baby who she wouldn't speak of for fear that it would set something off. Charlotte who has ceased crying maybe ten times since he's known her, is back at it again and the inside of his skull feels like it is being branded with a cattle prod, he can feel his brain cells surrendering. He can sense Addison burning a hole in the back of his neck, her eyes fixed in a permanent glare as she refuses to lift her arms to support the baby when and should he choose to set her down. She's statuesque, jaw tightened, arms stiffened in fear.
So he takes the responsibility of cradling Charlotte against her mother on his own, tenderly pushing them together until Addison's hand flinches out of natural reaction and comes up to support Charlotte's hatless head full of dark hair, her other arm winding itself along the baby's back.
"See?" Mark grins proudly, Charlotte quieting instantly against the heartbeat that she has known her entire life. He was right, but it's going to come at an unbearable cost. He's saving one and risking the other. Not something he took into account before survival mode kicked in.
"Get out," Addison seethes, clenching her teeth, fingers painfully still. She's afraid to move an inch to the left, to the right. She doesn't want to stand, but she doesn't want to be locked into sitting here all day either.
It wasn't supposed to be like this- forced and wrought with emptiness. She wanted it on her own terms, when she was ready. She wanted tiny bursts of explosions, something so deep it moved her to tears. She wanted to hold her child and know that she would rather die than have something endanger the life that she loves beyond identity, beyond understandable terms.
But it's not there. Nothing relaxes into that carefully allotted space that she's been saving for this exact moment, taunting and teasing.
"Get out," she repeats, a little louder this time.
"Addison, I was trying to help," Mark elaborates, but the cement still fashion of her form tells him that he isn't going to get anywhere logical with her.
Addison finds Charlotte's struggling eyes as Mark's feet hit the first step. She's seen the baby a hundred times in the last three days. She's heard her even more than that, and touched her a few select instances. Thick hair by the tons, tiny fingers, a rounded stomach and spindly legs. They're all features she recognizes, that her brain tells her belong to her. But now, all six pounds in hand, is the experience she has been dreading.
She feels absolutely nothing, forced or otherwise.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Some women have a hard time connecting. Addison hasn't had the opportunity to really bond-"
"She has," Mark interrupts, because he's not about to continue on in this fantasy where Addison is a blameless victim. It's a problem, yes. It's one he's willing the work through with her, yes. But he won't do it if they aren't going to be truthful about the events that have taken place.
"There's a lot going on," Violet diverts.
"She's on something...I don't know what, she said it was helping, and...I don't know. One minute she's herself, the next she's gone somewhere. She can't focus," Mark groans, turning the volume down on the television so he can hear himself think. After Addison kicked him out he thought a nap may be the best avenue of choice, but then the doorbell rang and it's been downhill ever since.
"It takes a while," Violet says warmly. "Give it time. Be patient. I trust Jake, you should too."
"Who?"
"The therapist I recommended to Addison, Jake Atwater, his practice is down the street-"
"She's seeing someone?"
Violet keeps herself in check, avoids the eye roll that is begging to break free. She's starting to think that maybe rotating turns on who stops by on their lunch (Sam, and Naomi the days before, Cooper and Dell later) may have not been the best game to participate in, not that it was a choice. "Mark, it's not important. Sometimes people are ashamed, it's...the important thing is that she's getting help, that she wants to receive help. That's huge...some people never are able to even take that step."
"Yeah, I guess," Mark agrees, scratching the back of his head. And because he's human, he can't help but wonder what else she's been hiding. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore."
"Mark," Violet repeats sternly, catching the brief flash of anxiety swipe over his face. "She needs you. She needs support."
"I know," Mark replies halfheartedly. And in one turn there is nowhere else in the world he would rather be, but in another this is starting to wear him down. Still, Violet has to say that Addison needs him, heaven forbid Addison herself let on to that little fact. And for as strong as a front as he puts up, slowly but surely he is being whittled away. He can't pretend that she says "I love you too" every time she looks the other way when it needs being said. He can't keep ignoring that she'd rather hide in the bedroom than come downstairs and participate in anything that could be construed as family related. And he can't help but notice that the ring he selected is no longer residing on her finger, that she hasn't mentioned a word about the wedding she should be freaked out about planning.
When he finally escapes Violet, after assuring her that he would tell Addison to call her (or Jake, because word of mouth is quick and apparently Addison has missed every single session they arranged for), Mark tiptoes back upstairs. He winces as the bedroom door swings back with a loud creak, but is relieved to find Addison curled up on the bed, Kennedy laying with her, slobbering on a chunk of her hair. Addison however is not actively engaged in what is happening because if she was she'd realize that her precious red locks are being drooled on and are matting, knotting under Kennedy's care.
He checks on Charlotte first because he can't not. It's habit. It's funny how life changes like that, he thinks. Months ago he was passed out on a hardwood floor, years before leaving bars with women whose names he still can't remember, if he even knew them in the first place. Now, he's kind of a father, and he's proud of that. He has that in this mess, and he won't let her take it away.
"I don't know what to do," Addison whispers, stealing her hair back and offering Kennedy a stuffed toy to chew on instead.
"About?" Mark questions, dipping down onto the bed, taking her usual side.
"I haven't slept in seventy some odd hours, I haven't showered. I don't remember the last time I ate something that you weren't practically forcing down my throat, and I don't know what day of the week it is anymore."
"Naomi said it's like this in the beginning. It'll get better," he tells her, not exactly believing it himself, but still taking her hand supportively, playing with the sprawled fingers above where Kennedy is lounging.
"I can't keep taking...it..." Addison gulps. Because she doesn't sleep. Because she can't think. But more importantly because holding her child for the first time felt similar to holding a block of concrete in her arms and trying to spark some sort of connection. She's had more of a rapport with babies she's just delivered than she did with Charlotte and it can't continue to be like this. If she is to get the dream life with the close to perfect family than she has to be able to love her child on another level, to want to be around her. "And I don't know what will happen when I stop."
"Close your eyes," Mark says gruffly, his voice scratchy from overuse.
"You think I haven't tried that?" Addison snaps back, pressing a palm into her forehead. "I want to sleep," she stresses, "I can't. Physically...I'm...I can't Mark, and I can't be around them like this. I don't remember what we had for breakfast, or lunch-"
"You didn't eat lunch," Mark remarks, looking over her shoulder at the alarm clock. "It's only 10 Addison."
"See?" Addison huffs, throwing her arms above her head, accidentally whacking them against the firm headboard. "It's...I can't operate like this, literally, I cannot see patients this way."
"We don't have to worry about that for a while," he reminds her, not liking the shocked face he gets in return. They haven't really discussed how much time she's taking off, and nothing has been drifting through the halls of the practice lately so he figures they're safe for a few more weeks. He hears her sigh at the ceiling before he finds something else to say. It's not like there is a quick fix here. "We can go...there, see Jake-" he pauses when her eyebrows rise in question, "Violet mentioned...maybe he has something different."
She can feel her face falling in defeat, a hand rising to nervously twist her wet hair. "He'll want to talk, and I can't talk because I'm not sleeping and I can't think like a normal human any longer."
"Addison-"
"I'm a zombie. A useless zombie," she decides dejectedly, rolling away from him, facing the bassinet that she has come to loathe.
"You aren't-"
"I don't even want to touch her Mark, what kind of a mother doesn't-never mind."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thanks," Mark mumbles, carefully cradling Charlotte and simultaneously shutting the front door behind his guests. "She's...up there," he points toward the sky and sinks down on the couch where he is practically living, fumbling for the bottle on the end table.
"You go," Violet asserts, nodding at Naomi with a comforting smile. "I'll come up when you're done." Violet clears her throat when their coworker disappears. "Mark, what happened?"
"I need to go get Ellie," he murmurs, offering Charlotte to Violet. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I don't know how to do this," Violet calls after him as he grabs the keys off the kitchen counter.
"She's forgiving," Mark smiles at the pair. Hell, he's managed to dress her right maybe once, but she's a pretty good sport about all his shortcomings. Aside from the crying, he'd say she's the most wonderful infant he's ever encountered. "And loud," he adds on for good measure, fair warning.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addie," Naomi states, poking her head into the room, her best friend curled up on the bed facing the large windows on the other side of the room. The blinds are drawn, the room encased in the effervescent orange gleam from the sun's rays trying to gain access.
Addison frowns as she feels the bed shift under the new weight, and suddenly her bangs are being brushed behind her ear, her head stroked repeatedly in the silence.
"You know, the first day I was alone with Maya, the first day Sam left me to go get food...I almost dropped her. Head first. And Sam came home, and I was a mess, Maya was fine, but...I may as well have dropped her, because I felt...awful. Horrible. And I remember thinking that there was no way I was going to be able to do this, what a disaster I had gotten myself into. For a long time," Naomi pauses, noting no change in Addison, "I was so sure I was going to be a failure, that I would break her or harm her...but you get the hang of it."
"You're an amazing mother Nae," Addison says without thought. Naomi is the mother, nurturing, giving. Nothing like Addison has known but everything she wants to be.
"Well, not quite, but...I do my best. That's it Addie, give it what you've got, and the rest, it'll come."
Addison rolls over, instantly missing the contact she's broken. "I don't feel anything. When I hold...her, it's like...someone else's baby."
"She's definitely yours, have you heard the set of lungs she has?" Naomi deflects. That wasn't the real issue. Charlotte King would have killed someone if there was a weird baby swapping incident.
"I need Derek," Addison croaks, taking the pillow from behind her head and burying her face in it. Suffocating doesn't sound like such a horrible thing right now, she'd finally get some rest.
Naomi swallows heavily, buying time. She's shocked how much the thought of Derek being dead still cuts, how deep it runs for her, how much worse it must be for not only Addison but also Mark. "You don't need him Addie. You're stronger than this, I know you. I know you don't need a man-"
"He never got to see them, hold them Nae, he never got a chance...and...I don't...I can't. This is so..." Addison stops herself before it all begins again. She'd trade spots, lie in his grave, if that were possible. He'd be better for them.
"He's," Naomi exhales, "I have to believe...he's seen them. He's here," Naomi says foolishly, pressing her hand against her friend's chest.
"He's dead," Addison says stiffly. "And...what do I say when they ask why they look like no one in this family? What do I say, 'Oh, yeah. Mark's not really your dad he's just the guy I cheated on your father with...and then stayed with...and then got back together with after the divorce...and then your father and I...but then he died in a car crash....and now Mark's here again, but you can still call him Dad. Sorry your entire life has been a lie?'" That's her story, not theirs.
"It's complicated," Naomi acknowledges, "But...you have a few years before that will happen so why don't we shelve it, and work on what we can. One step at time, okay?"
And maybe her biggest problem has been this. The accumulation of questions, concerns, fears until they are busting out of the neat little compartments she tries to shove them into. It's overwhelming, having Charlotte home, regardless of the fact that most of the forthcoming problems won't happen in the near future. It's that she's real, not stored in some hospital where Addison can talk herself into denial. No, Charlotte makes her presence known constantly, and it's much too much. With or without Mark. It nearly makes it worse, how at ease he is with this, with her.
She's falling apart, ripping at the seams, and he hasn't run off yet. That in itself is horrifying.
"I don't know where to start."
"I'm thinking a shower would be a good place," Naomi nods, taking in Addison's rumpled appearance.
"It's that bad?" Addison questions, wondering how Mark can stand it.
"No, but...you need a few minutes. So go take them, and then we'll work from there."
"Thank you," Addison grins wobbly, tears that refuse to fall still fresh in her eyes.
Naomi leans in for a tight hug explaining, "Violet is downstairs. I didn't think you wanted to see what's behind that door."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"She's been in there a while," Violet observes loudly, Naomi busy trying to get Charlotte down for a nap.
"She's fine, yes she is," Naomi urges, in a sing-song voice, cooing to Charlotte over the gentle hum of whatever Violet has selected to watch as they kill time. Naomi rubs the infant's cheek, her back, her stomach, trying to calm her into a land of fluffy white sheep and racing stars.
"No, she's not. I'm going to go check on her," Violet tells her boss, sneaking a peek at her watch, noting that Mark has been gone an awfully long time as well.
"Violet," Naomi says after a few seconds. "She's overwhelmed, and scared, and tired...and it's not you per se but I just don't think she can handle an interrogation about anything right now."
"I'm good at what I do," Violet clarifies with a hand in the air. Addison is...difficult for her. Being uncooperative is the main problem. She thinks she could get through to her if only the woman would stay still and listen for half a second. "Very good."
"It's not you," Naomi refutes. Addison needs gentle handling. She's fragile and sometimes Violet, when not in full fledged work mode can be abrasive and crass. It's like smashing a glass figurine with a rubber mallet, not exactly what the situation is calling for. And no one in this house needs Addison raising her voice about anything.
"She needs therapy," Violet states casually staring at the stairs, waiting for something to happen.
"Don't we all," Naomi nods convincingly.
"We should at least make sure she isn't dead."
"Violet-"
"You're mind hasn't gone there?" Violet dares. She saw the look on Naomi's face after Addison "accidentally" got hurt by an alleged piece of glass from a broken vase. She could read it on everyone in the room- Addison can be a danger to herself.
"I'll go," Naomi declares, trying to hand Charlotte back but Violet shrugs her off reminding her that she and children don't really click all that well, minus the one upstairs napping.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison gulps back a fresh batch of hormonal tears, citing the lack of rest and impending insanity as the culprits of her poor self-control. The robe covering her drying skin is cozy and inviting, her bed beckoning her to sit, and stay.
She hasn't moved in the longest time. Her shower took maybe ten minutes, and now she's stuck. She doesn't know how to get up and walk downstairs, she doesn't know how to face that, and more importantly she doesn't want to. What she wants to do is curl up into the tiniest ball possible and lay very still for an impossibly stretched amount of minutes.
She's felt regression since Charlotte came home, and in some sick perverted way she blames her helpless daughter for the landslide. Because the days before her arrival were scattered with smiles, and light kisses from Mark, and some stressed but still available rest. And now Mark is yelling, and she doesn't remember what it is to smile or sleep.
Slowly she turns into herself, the blackness driving her forward. Addison inches up further on the bed, her head landing as it will, three centimeters from the pillow, and she hasn't the strength to adjust or the capacity to care.
And then she waits. Waits for a relaxing force to take hold, to take pity, but it never seems to come when she wants it most. She watches the blinds quake and quiver under the gentle direction of new spring breeze, and imagines the life she should be having instead of the one she's bound to.
"Addison," Naomi whispers, peeping in behind the cracked door to find her friend presumably asleep. She leaves just as quickly as she came, because the nap is needed. Two down on her list, sleep and shower. On her way down the hall she finds Kennedy awake in her crib and plucks her from the spot singing about how she has gotten so big, and wondering when exactly it was that her own baby managed to grow up.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"She's really soft, like butter," Violet remarks, running her fingers over Charlotte's drowsy head, down along her neck, repeating over and over until her tiny eyes fall shut.
"Are you petting her?" Naomi asks, but the front door opening keeps the question from being answered.
"Bout time," Violet accuses, looking up at the jingling keys in Mark's right hand, his other wrapped firmly around a bouquet of brightly colored spring flowers that the florist said most women would love, "something for everyone in there" she said.
"I told you you could leave," Naomi reminds her, spread across the living room floor, playing with Kennedy and trying to remain as ladylike as possible. She's floored by the simple, yet advanced changes in the six month old as she tries to crawl across the rug, her bare knees scratching over the fabric.
"Thanks for staying," Mark mumbles, headed toward the kitchen with his prize, Elianna in tow. He spent the entire way there and back thinking of how he's ruined all of his progress with Addison. Trying to get her to open up only to tell her that she isn't trying hard enough. Forcing her on a delicate subject. He feels like an ass, par for the course in their relationship. But amends must be made, and though he still is resound in the fact that she wasn't trying and that she needed to hold Charlotte, he realizes now that he went about it the wrong way. He needed more tact. Hopefully, the flowers and some carefully worded groveling can repair the damage.
Mark searches for a vase, tearing through cupboards of glass, china, and crystal. Eventually he comes up empty handed. He doesn't know when their house turned into a mess of tiny cartoon cups and miniature versions of cutlery, but it has. He hears Ellie squeal to her Auntie Nae about how she got to help pick out the pretty flowers, hears her ask Violet to play dress up.
It's as good as time as any to escape unnoticed.
"She fell asleep about an hour ago," Naomi informs him as he starts for the stairs, not bothering to analyze why it is that Addison wouldn't be down here with her friends. It seems the most appropriate selection for her behavior lately.
"She's not asleep," Mark refutes, wound around the dark banister.
"She looked pretty asleep to me," Naomi shrugs before turning back to Kennedy, helping her stand on her own wobbly legs as she bounces up and down, her lilac dress catching the puffs of air as she moves, Ellie cheering her sister on a few feet away.
He would explain that Addison pretends to be asleep to evade conversations. He would tell her that Addison may be trying to sleep, but can't. And he would mention that she really hasn't first clue about her dearest friend anymore, but it's not important, so for once he discards a battle and climbs up without another word.
"Addie," he begins gently, noting that she is always managing to face away from him when things need to be said the most. "Look, I'm sorry...for this morning. I was an ass, and...I shouldn't have...done that. It won't happen again. Well, it'll probably happen...but I am sorry," he says, stumbling over a pair of her shoes as he rounds the bed. "You could at least open your eyes so you can see your present."
He nudges her shoulder when there is no fluttering of eyelids, moaning of limbs. One of her relaxed fists is wound in the mess of drying waves attached to her head, but the other one is curled around a very pink stuffed bunny that Kennedy was playing with, nay trying to digest, earlier. Her breaths are deep, even, her green robe coming untied, long legs sprawled over their unmade bed.
There's not a sweep of makeup on her face, she's barely clothed, and the red fingernail polish on her toes has long since started chipping, but Mark's thinks she's never looked more beautiful, and alternately more ridiculous cuddled up to a toy. He snatches a striped receiving blanket off of the dresser and covers what he can of her, just in case she gets cold. Then he places the flowers across the end table on her side, so when she wakes up she'll see them, and hopefully budge an inch in the other direction.
She really has finally succumb to unconsciousness, and he's never been more relieved.
"Ma-rk," he hears being grumbled as he tries to leave the room quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Come back," Addison murmurs, certain that she's not been out for more than ten minutes. The blackout sleep leaves her more disorientated than when she began the endeavor. She settles her head once more on the fluffy toy in front of her and waits for him to return, but she never feels his hot skin pressed against her, never feels his moist breath hiking along her neck. "Mark?"
"You should sleep, I shouldn't have woken you," Mark thinks aloud, looking oddly self-conscious and unsure. He hates that she turns him into a schoolboy with a crush, that the end of her may actually mean his certain demise.
She's always the unstable variable, they just never realized it beforehand.
"I'm up," Addison decides, accidentally biting down on her tongue, the bitter taste of blood drowning her mouth.
"But you shouldn't be," he recites, a record, a song, filing through the known lyrics. His perch on the bed is unexpected but not unwelcome. Addison rolls onto her back with a large sigh.
"Sleeping won't fix me Mark. I don't need rest. I'm not sick," Addison informs him, swallowing a mouthful of salty liquid. This is beyond what eight hours a night can repair. It's mental, and she is drained and the nap was excellent, but it won't make her feel a spark when she holds Charlotte; it won't stop her from wanting to pack up all of Ellie's things and throw her on the next flight out to San Francisco.
"We'll get through this."
"I'm trying."
"You keep saying that," he reminds her, glancing at his watch, seeing that Charlotte will probably be screaming here shortly about the lack of food in her stomach, that Ellie has a packet of homework that needs completing.
"You don't believe me." She doesn't blame him. They're halfhearted explanations. "I'm doing my best," she tacks on carefully after a few minutes of unwavering silence.
"Sleep," Mark whispers, climbing out of his spot and heading back to their guests and the circus that has become their home.
He doesn't believe her, but then again, neither does she.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"He hates me," Addison whispers, looking over her shoulder at Naomi and Mark drooling over Charlotte, and further back at the bustling practice she used to be a part of.
"He doesn't...I don't think he does," Violet stammers, watching the redhead sink down onto her couch, into her personal space. She has no idea why they are here parading around, she hasn't had the unfortunate adventure of running into Mark or Addison lately.
"I'm sorry," Addison mourns, slapping a hand to her forehead. The rest of week was rather uneventful, more of the same, but she knows that look in his eyes. She knows what disappointment is on someone's face, she's experienced it for the entirety of her life.
The one place she never thought it would belong is with Mark.
Because he adored her, and he didn't mind that she was arrogant and occasionally self-serving. She was better than him, morally, in the ways society liked to measure, and he admired her, once. Not now, she fears.
"Addison," Violet begins, on unfamiliar territory. This is Jake's patient, and she's not poaching the crazy, but the opportunity is present. "Is there a chance that maybe you...hate you? That maybe you're projecting this all onto Mark?"
It catches her off-guard, admittedly, the straightforward fashion of Violet's question. Everyone has been so busy tiptoeing around her that it's startling, and it steals her breath for a good five minutes.
"I was going to be a good mother," Addison starts, holding her hand up when Violet tries to get a leading word in, "I was ready- well not ready when it happened- the way it happened. But in my life, I was ready for children. I wanted someone to chase around the house, I wanted parent-teacher conferences and poorly worded flyers on head lice."
Addison catches Violet cringe and run her fingers through the curly mess atop her shoulders as her own lungs take a big gulp of air, hands shaking in her lap. "I wanted a reason to wake up on Christmas, to wake up any day of the week frankly...and I feel like...that's been stolen from me. I have it, I can't appreciate it. It's been taken from me and..." she laughs at the incredulous display of self-pity she's displaying. "there's no one to blame, except me."
"Addison it's-"
"It is. It's my fault I can't hold my daughter, and my fault that Mark questions every decision I make about my nieces. He thinks I'm insane, he doesn't trust me, and that's my fault."
Instead of diving into the wealth of information, the proverbial pot of gold Addison has just tossed out onto the table, Violet asks the obvious, because her nerves are disconcerting, and she's pale, not just from staying inside day after day. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," Addison groans, spilling from her lips without second thought.
"It's just...you don't look fine," Violet offers awkwardly, shifting closer.
"I...stopped, it's side effects, but I'm fine. I'm good," Addison dismisses. God, she can finally form a coherent thought again. And yes, it's painful, and she feels like throwing up every ten seconds as her body withdrawals, but this was the right choice.
"Stopped...taking your prescribed-"
"Yes, I couldn't...I wasn't sleeping-"
"You have a new baby," Violet scoffs, but she doesn't know that Addison isn't the one getting up for late night feedings, for three a.m. diaper changes.
"I couldn't think." Addison taps her skull.
"You can't just stop-"
"Violet, I'm a world class neonatal-" Addison cuts herself off as she races for the trash can. The 'I told you so' look she receives as she loses the oatmeal Mark practically forced her to eat is not welcome or wanted, but more than warranted. She knew the consequences, she just thought this would be better than what she was dealing with before.
In hindsight, as Violet shoves her into Pete's office for some voodoo holistic therapy, something that won't make her fuzzy and will allow sleep, she realizes that she should have known better.
It's just another notch, another strike, another failed attempt on her part.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You know, you really shouldn't have done that. There are warnings for a reason-" Pete stops at Addison's upturned hand, her eyes clenched shut as he pokes and prods around the office, wracking his brain for ideas. He has things for the nausea, for the aches, things that are naturally mood enhancing, but nothing in this room will cure Addison. She has to repair herself. "Did you consider switching the dosage or even the pills themselves? It takes adjustment."
"Save the speech," Addison quips, taking advantage of his acupuncture table, needles hanging from her flesh as she "detoxifies". She figures she has at most twenty minutes before Mark realizes that she's missing and this all implodes, kamikaze style.
Pete uncaps a jar and sniffs inside, buying time. "Look, you don't believe in this anyway-"
"Can you fix me?" Addison asks seriously, fingering the edge of the bed nervously. "Make it so I can sleep?"
"You have a newborn, I can't fix that," Pete laughs, greeted only by silence. "If you would've dated me we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"I'm engaged," Addison reminds him, staring up at the ceiling. The least he could do is put up a poster for people to read or a bunch of glow in the dark stars in their appropriate stellar assignments.
"That stuck, huh?"
"Could you hurry up please?" He hears her shout as he pulls a few more jars down, grabbing bags off the shelf in front of him. He watches her nose try to curl as he explains what each thing does, how often to take it, and when to call him. He pats her shoulder and feels her cringe under his touch.
No, she's definitely not the same person she was when she arrived. Hell, he's not even convinced she's alive anymore, and he can't help but want to blame Mark for all of this.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to say," Addison warns Mark, lying down on her vacant office couch, the room collecting dust and intricate cobwebs every day it's not in use.
"You should have consulted me first Addison, I have a say in these things. I have an opinion."
"I'm doing what I have to," she says, pointing to the mounds of crap Pete gave her.
"And you'll be damned if anyone gets in your way-"
"It's not a big deal," Addison moans, his volume and pitch much to high for her headache, not to mention the sleeping children a few feet away.
"It is a big deal to me!" Mark yells, grappling with what Pete explained to him. Addison voted that her medication wasn't working. Addison decided she'd stop taking it cold turkey. Addison is an idiot.
"And I said I don't want to talk about it," Addison says forcefully.
"I'm not Derek!" Mark shouts suddenly. "You won't browbeat me into submission. I don't care if you don't want to talk about it, we promised each other that we wouldn't have that kind of relationship."
"Don't-"
"No, we talk about the hard things. We talk!" It's all they have really, all they've ever had. And yes, at the beginning it was annoying and she was whiny, but it's the foundation of the adulterous thing they built, and it can't be traded upon or altered. "We talk about your husband not loving you, and we talk about how our families suck, we talk about my stupid conquests, our commitment phobias."
It's not that there isn't truth in his words, honesty in his voice, it's that she doesn't want to hear it. Because there is nothing more to say on the subject, even if he is angry. What's done is done, so she continues to watch the bumpy patten of the lavender wall until it wiggles and moves out of illusion.
"I need this shit to work." Mark knocks on the wooden table housing all of Pete's potions and spices. "I need you to step up Addison because the system we have right now isn't working, and I'm not Derek. We won't ignore our problems until they fade into something bigger and worse. I need you to be better than what you are, than what you are attempting to be," Mark shrugs. "Because they deserve a mother, all four of them, and you deserve to finally have the family you've always wanted."
"Been working on that?"
"This is not a joke to me," Mark squeaks. Only this woman could make him so damn emotional, perhaps he is more like Derek than previously assessed. "I don't know how to do any of this without you. And I don't want to."
Before he can launch into nuclear mode, melting down his feelings about relationships and children and how he never wanted any of this and it's all her fault, because she didn't already know that, she stammers a wavering, "We're late."
~-~-~-~-~-~
It's been nearly two weeks since she stood in this very spot, willed her mind to just work with her on the magnanimous event. It's been eleven critically heartbreaking, soul-wrecking days with Charlotte at home, and now there will be another.
Another baby to deny, to avoid, to dance circles around but never with. Another mouth for Mark to feed, another set of squirming limbs for him to juggle. And in this moment, she hates that there are two of them.
Most people are elated, albeit nervous, but happy about receiving the news of twins, in her vast experience doing the telling. They want to dress them the same and name them the same, and know that they will forever have another half. But here she stands, lingering in the doorway, pure outrage filling her heart. To make matters completely and inevitably worse they are exact replicas. She can discern no difference in the pair, she's not meant to. And they will scream, and smell, and pull her hair. And Mark will know who is who by the end of the week.
Addison's not sure she ever will at this point.
"So, what's it gonna be Montgomery?" Charlotte King asks, pen poised and ready as Mark gently places B into her car seat, but not before stalling noticeably.
"I was...thinking," Mark jumps in when Addison's deer in headlights look gets too pathetic, "maybe Audrey. I know it's another A name, but they won't be calling you Addison anyway...and-"
"It's fine," Addison decides. They didn't speak in the car, but Mark can have this. They don't need a showdown over something that she doesn't really care about anyway. It's not Candy, or Lemon, or anything else ridiculous so it's fine. And he does need something, she realizes. Something to hang his hat on at the end of the day, and that accomplishment seems rooted in this very easy task.
"Charlotte, can I borrow you for a moment?" Addison asks, guiding her out of the room as Mark situates himself with the last pieces of paperwork. "I was planning on coming back to work-"
"She's just now going home," Charlotte points out rudely, but it isn't taken into account.
"...in about a week or so, I wanted to let you know when to expect me," Addison continues, undaunted by anyone's concern.
"What about boy toy in there?"
"I can't speak for Mark," Addison smiles forcefully and then removes herself to escort their entourage back to the car. It's serious effort to lug the three of them around, Kennedy latched onto her aunt, Mark with a baby hanging from each arm.
They make it out just in time to dash off to retrieve Ellie, Addison's head stuck against the jostling window, wondering if this is what her life is going to be now. School runs, play dates, and trying to fit work in between.
She wonders if it will ever reach a point where carting around her children will feel how she once hoped it would, instead of this nagging interference to her world.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I don't feel like a mother," Addison confides, staring at Mark with the twins, blankets strewn over the living room rug. He has been fun to watch, playing with their tiny feet. It's been a quiet morning, the ocean she's been observing particularly still outside. They seem to have, through many trial and error sequences, found a schedule for all eight hundred of their difficult children. But it still doesn't allow for much sleep, and over compensates with time for reflection.
Because this is the first conversation where she's said anything remotely substantial in weeks, almost since the twins were born, Mark is more than hesitant to turn around, but he does anyway. The words, however, fail him. He no longer knows how to support her, what she needs, when she needs it, how much to administer.
She's completely shattered them, and he allowed it.
"It's...I can't tell them apart," Addison gestures to Charlotte and Audrey, or vice versa because she has no idea. "And I don't know their cries. I don't remember their first baths, or first bottles. I wasn't there. And now...there's this hole. Huge, gaping, black hole. And I can't say that it exists because I wasn't...there for so long, because we can't know the effects of that, but I...don't feel anything toward them. I feel nothing, and it scares me. I'm scared it's never going to go away. I'm afraid that I will be exactly what my mother was because...I can't seem to be anything else right now."
"Ok," Mark nods. He can't understand. They're so wonderful, so amazing to just watch, that he doesn't get it. But she is talking, and that's a major step, Violet said, so he has to shut up. "Just shut your mouth and hear her out, no matter how crazy it is."
"Regardless, I need you to stop faulting me for something I have no control over."
"I don't-"
"You do, all the time," Addison stops him. "And it's not helping this...pass. You have to run to pick Ellie up and not ask me fifty times if I will be alright finding a new pair of socks in the event that one gets lost. I'm capable of doing things-"
"You wouldn't come downstairs!" Mark yells, waking up Audrey as she slips in and out of nap time.
"I'm past that, I feel like I'm past that," Addison illuminates, knocking her fists together loosely. She can carry out tasks, she just does them out of obligation, not desire.
Mark remains unconvinced on this front. She seems to be taking Pete's therapy to heart, is really applying what he gave her to work with, but on the other hand she refuses to set up an appointment with any therapist, including Violet. And he can't fix her when she gives with one hand and promptly takes with the other.
But she's communicating what she feels, and Mark notes a strong lift in his shoulders. He doesn't have to guess any longer, and that's somewhat freeing.
"I am so deeply sorry for what I've put you through Mark," Addison squeaks. She's always been sorry, it's just never getting them anywhere.
"I chose," Mark grunts, neglecting the tears that are clinging to her lashes. He hates that their talks always end in hysterics.
"I need you to trust me again," she pleads. "I need you to believe in me again because...I don't, and it's kind of terrifying to be this screwed up and all alone."
"I-" he begins but is cut short by the pager that has been lying dormant on the end table for weeks now. He looks it over quizzically before deciding that it's not just the batteries beginning to short out. "911."
"Go," Addison urges, throat surprisingly tight, burying her face in her sleeve. "We're fine here. Go."
"I can call them-"
"They wouldn't page you unless it was a real emergency Mark, you need to go." Addison smiles weakly, proud that something so monstrous occurred that he had to be called in, slightly envious that she didn't get a page too. She can't wait to get back in the saddle, back into a place where she's the hero, not the villain.
"We were talking," Mark tells her, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter.
"Don't worry, my craziness isn't going to be gone by the time you get back," she assures him, tightening her grip on the throw pillow in her lap.
True, Mark thinks, but her willingness to speak about it may be out the window. He has to take every advantage that he has.
"They need to be fed in an hour." Mark points at the twins. "And the one on your right is Audrey, she's in yellow, and she likes when you sing to her. And you have to feed Charlotte first because she'll get angry if she has to wait, she's impatient. And Ken should be waking up soon-"
"Making this worse," Addison chimes in. She really needs him to walk out the door minus all afterthoughts, all details, even if she doesn't know any of this information.
"And if I'm not back in time, Ellie has to be picked up at-"
Addison strides toward the door, pushing his strong back along the way, shoving his leather jacket into his hands. "Have a nice day at work Mark."
"Thank you," he beams, kissing her temple, and practically skipping to the car. He's missed this just as much as she has, and while the late night feedings are completely worth it, there's nothing quite like saving someone's life. It's a different rush. Plus, if he had to be completely candid, he could use a break from all the estrogen, specifically Addison.
He needs to regroup. He needs a plan. And he's never as clear as when he's scrubbing out of another amazing procedure.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Ok," Addison says aloud, prepping herself. "I can do this. I can." She shrugs and sinks back down onto the couch, reaching for the remote. She nearly jumps halfway off the couch at the first crackling of noise from the baby monitor that was left discarded, in Mark's haste, ten feet from the living room. She exhales loudly and takes off after the stairs to fetch the missing puzzle piece of this dysfunctional group. But as soon as she disappears she can hear distant cries coming from the other direction. Heaven knows they wouldn't want to give her an easy time after what she's done to them.
"Oh," Addison's nose crinkles in disgust. She has definitely not missed diapers. But moreover Mark shouldn't be allowed to dress these kids anymore she decides, lifting Kennedy free of her crib. "Orange is not your color," Addison tells her seriously, evaluating the giraffes littering the tiny dress that her niece is sporting. "Let's find something new."
She can hear the screams downstairs growing in distress as she rifles through the white dresser, Kennedy warmly pressed against her hip. She finds something purple that will do the trick and reaches the twins just in time for the doorbell to drag her away again. "Coming!" Addison yells, checking over her shoulder to make sure that the baby gate is still secured so the newly mobile Kennedy doesn't get anywhere she shouldn't be. "Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers- I said I'm coming!"
Without finishing her rhyme she grabs the infant within the closest vicinity and rushes to the impatient guest waiting outside. Addison flings the door back aggressively, causing it to smash against the wall loudly, startling the recently soothed baby in her arms. "Susan-" Addison gasps, peering behind her once mother in-law's shoulder to behold the devil. "Mother."
"We thought you could use some help," Susan explains, letting herself in, nodding in affirmation to herself as she scoops up Audrey and cuddles her close, breathing in her irresistible scent.
Addison backs herself against the wall with wide eyes as Judith strides into her life.
"Quite the mess you've made this time Addison," Judith whispers, progressing stoically into baby land, disgust eminating from her pores.
"Some help," Addison mutters, running her tongue along the roof of her mouth in thought. There's really only one way for this to go, as far as her side of the family is concerned, and it's not going to be pretty.
~-~-~-~-~-~
A/N: The original product of this chapter was almost 35 pages long, so a lot got cut, moved, and you will see it in the next chapter. And I am well aware that this has a very Addison, Addison, Addison feel to it, but Mark will have his moments coming up as well as Ellie. Also, while actual show seems to kill my inspiration every week (hence the monstrous wait here), Addison with that damn cat? Magic. Thanks for reading, maybe I'll actually manage to wrap this thing up before the year ends.