(no subject)
Title: Early Morning Ambulance
Part: 1/3
Pairing: Addison-centric, but also a fair amount of Sam/Addison.
Rating: Erring on the side of caution for the duration, R.
Summary: A/U after 3.10. Addison encounters an unconventional patient that challenges what she thinks she knows about medicine, mortality, and family.
A/N: There really are no words to explain this, I just wanted to try something different. And I've never created my own character, I'm perfectly content to play with things already given to us, but this story will not leave me alone. It's definitely a little different from my usual offerings, so I hope it can remain enjoyable. Title borrowed from Gifts From Enola, chapter title from Followed By Ghosts.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Dear Monsters, Be Patient
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sorry,” Addison breathes unprofessionally as she topples into the exam room, still in the process of shedding her coat and dropping her keys on the counter. “My cat escaped...well, not escaped per se,” she explains, washing her hands, the running water rushing through the metal sink softly. “I'm not usually late, for future reference,” she smiles, pivoting on the spike of her heel. After Milo's gallivanting around the neighborhood, the traffic, and the nauseating feeling that came with asking Dell for help an hour ago, she'd love nothing more than to fall into her office chair and mourn her life over a strong cup of coffee and fresh crossword puzzle.
“I get it,” the woman beside her sympathizes refreshingly. It's sincere, and she fidgets under Addison's scrutiny, shivering under the weight of their very first face-to-face and the paper thin paper gown.
“So,” Addison purses her lips, deciding to take a shot at the name, “Autumn, how are you feeling?”
“Auden,” the woman smiles, “with a D.”
“Sorry again,” Addison laughs, scratching out the sloppy notes she made earlier on the reference from a long lost friend that she found scattered in her stack of pink messages yesterday. After the world came crashing down, after she spent hours upon hours lying very still, trying to wrap her mind around what was happening with her drama filled family from hell, she got a little more than behind. And she's resolutely informed her mind that they are also not thinking about anything that happened while they were in town. It's too much to grasp, to attempt and figure out, it's really best left untouched.
“It's a boy's name,” Auden laughs uneasily. “My mother...was...crazy, literally, Alzheimer's, well not when she named me so I suppose there's not a good excuse there...but she was always just off kilter, God rest her soul,” she finishes out of breath, hands already raising to her face. “That was about a hundred different things you didn't need to know, we're completely even now.”
“It's alright to be nervous,” Addison comforts. First time mothers have been grating on her nerves lately, but this one may be different. “I'm going to start-”
“I'm not good...with medicine related things,” Auden interrupts. “Maybe...you could just, you know, do what you need to do, and don't tell me. My imagination has got it under control, trust me.”
“Why don't you tell me why you came to L.A.,” Addison says, securing her second glove, pulling the instrument tray closer. She's surprised how good she's gotten at carrying on conversations through these things. There should be new Olympic categories.
“I...needed a change, oh okay, that's still pretty cold.” Auden takes a second to recover, wishing there was music in the room, something other than the sound of her voice and the clanking of uncivilized machinery. “I felt like I couldn't breathe, so I left. I don't know, it sounds stupid now.”
“No, I understand,” Addison says, even taking a moment to look up and make eye contact.
“Why'd you become a doctor?” she bursts, a second later, grabbing the redhead's undivided attention. “That's too much, isn't it?”
“It's...fine.” Addison purses her lips, buying time. There was a short answer, the one she always gave, and then there was the real one, that would probably take four hours and seven proper years of therapy to explain. Guilt, father, mother, an incessant need to prove herself to people who don't give a damn. “I always knew I wanted to help people, babies especially. This was my best option to be able to do that.” Door number one. Behind door number two there's a never-ending hallway.
“You like your job,” Auden observes, voice squeaking as the woman between her legs gathers yet another sample.
“I love my job,” Addison corrects, pulling back, jotting down a few quick notes about her chatty patient. All in all, not exactly how she saw her day being started, but not entirely unpleasant.
“That's rare, you know, most people hate their jobs. I hate mine, or hated, I guess should say. Everything gets so stuffy, and the hate just builds and builds until bam! And the next thing you know, you're taking a mental health week on a plane flying across the country.”
“What was your job?” Addison asks with waning interest. There are a few other things catching her eye at this point, sending her mind spinning in directions she doesn't want it to go for this particular patient.
There's an undeniable charisma swarming the room, a connection that she'd rather not feel at this point. It's always harder when she gets overly attached.
“Something in a cubicle. There were a lot of useless forms involved. I don't even remember what the real title was anymore. I was some number, not a name, certainly not a face with a name. I'm sure I've already been replaced by another random graduate student. We're dispensable like that,” Auden exhales loudly as her doctor prepares to drop even colder gel on her stomach. “It's a girl, they said, before.”
Addison grins, skillfully moving the wand until she can confirm for her patient that it is, indeed, a girl. A healthy, thumb sucking girl.
“I'm inappropriate sometimes. I laugh when everyone is crying in movie theaters, and when little kids fall down... and old people, especially old people. And I always manage to find the best way to stick my foot in my mouth. I guess I did inherent a large quantity of my crazy mother, but I think I'd be a decent parent. In the long run, that is. In the short run I'd probably embarrass the poor thing, and set its hair on fire or something, but...in the long run, I'd be good for it, I think...” Auden stops herself, realizing that Addison hasn't said anything in quiet a while. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Addison hums half-heartedly. “Everything looks really good.” She takes the opportunity to pat Auden's arm reassuringly, and then begins gathering her supplies. “I'm just...I'm going to go drop all of this off at the lab, and someone will call you when it's ready.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Auden bites into her lip, legs still self-consciously wound in the stirrups. “I talk too much, that's what Neil always said, probably why he left me...hindsight's a bitch. But, I don't mean to offend-”
“You did nothing wrong,” Addison guarantees her.
“You're sure?” Auden checks. The first impression here is absolutely critical.
“Positive. I'll see you soon, and try to relax.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“She has to know, she has to be in pain...or something,” Addison paces, a pen twirling through her fingers, Sam lounging on her couch.
“Patients don't always experience severe symptoms-”
“Why would she come all the way out here?”
“She wanted air, you said,” Sam reminds her, taking to staring at the ceiling. She's just talking to talk at this point. He's been hovering lately, sure, but it's nice to hover, even if he has to deal with this. He thinks Addison needs hovering right now, she needs to be protected on occasion.
“So she came to the smog capitol of the west coast? There are amazing doctors over there. Jenkins, Halverson. She was in the best place she could be-”
“Let's assume she doesn't know,” Sam hypothesizes. “What would you do to treat her?”
“I'd terminate the pregnancy and turn her over to an oncologist. Probably one from where she was originally. She has to know. She knew she was having a girl. Someone would have told her Sam.”
“Maybe they missed it.”
“Stop playing devil's advocate!” Addison screeches, tugging at her raw scalp. It's been pulled, twisted, matted, and torn since her parent's uncalled for visit.
“Do you want me to go get Naomi?” Sam questions. He doesn't particularly care for the freak outs. If she'd stay calm and talk, then it's a different story. But when she gets fed up, they both end up trekking down a road that they know they shouldn't be taking. A road that involves kissing, and tongues, and not nearly enough regret or self-control to stop them from doing it over and over again.
“No,” Addison sighs. “I want...to be able to look at her and tell her what they didn't. I want to have a plan that she'll want. And everyone would recommend what I just recommended so...what else is there?”
“Surgery?”
“I don't have her records Sam, but I have to assume that this is everywhere. Renal cancer-”
“You won't know until you get a look. You won't know until you get her back in here. Maybe she has a reason,” Sam replies.
“I'm so sick of this week,” Addison grieves, scooting Sam's feet off the end of the couch and curling up in the vacant spot, toes hiding under her legs. “I'm sick of my life. I hate telling people that they are going to die, and soon. And if you open your mouth to say that technically we are all dying then I will hurt you.”
Against his better judgment, as so often is the case with Addison these days, Sam finds himself fastening their fingers together. Her hair is soft against his neck when she resigns, and she doesn't grumble as the loose tendrils fall from the place she pinned them earlier. “We'll figure it out, do the best we can. That's all we can do,” he pacifies.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“But I don't want to fight this,” Auden argues, her doctor seated defensively behind her desk, papers scattered over the surface. “I didn't come out here for a second opinion or tenth opinion, or for a cure. I came out here to give my child the best. That's you.”
“You want to die,” Addison huffs defeated.
“That's like admitting that you want to lose. And no one ever wants to lose Dr. Montgomery. I just...I'm playing the game a different way. I thought you were the right fit, after everyone that I've seen, but Los Angeles is a big town-”
“And now you're threatening me,” Addison interjects. She saw this going differently. She saw herself offering the box of tissues behind her, she saw herself holding a hand.
“It's only a threat if you care in the first place, otherwise it's a favor,” Auden chimes, sometimes she still feels like she's fifteen, held under the strict scrutiny of those who have no right to judge in the first place.
“You have options,” Addison fights back, not okay with sitting on the good medicine that she's learned. She can't stand to watch someone wither away, she just doesn't have it in her right now.
“I'm not lucky. I'm not a lucky person. I'm remarkably unremarkable Dr. Montgomery. I'm not the five percent that survives this.”
“You could be.” By the end of this Addison finds she may be the one reaching for a hand, or a tissue.
“I made a choice, to do what was best by my daughter. I made an informed decision after months of tests and hundreds of doctors telling me that I was making a mistake. I'm giving the only thing that I've got left. If you don't respect it that's perfectly understandable, but tell me now before we keep wasting the time I don't have.” It's impassioned enough, Auden believes, to sway the jury she needs.
“Okay,” Addison agrees after a few minutes tensed quiet, her computer whirring in the background. “I'm with you, but if we find a new viable option in the course-”
“I'm always open to options about saving my life,” Auden intercedes, “but I don't want to hear them if they'll end hers.” She places a loving hand on top of her slightly curved stomach, for good measure, and lets the moisture build in her eyes. She ran out of tears weeks ago, all she has now is embittered laughter.
“Deal,” Addison squeaks, already regretting the time and energy she is about to drop into this one case. She almost wants to whine for the normal patients, routine c-sections. It's a precariously balanced scale of never being satisfied.
“I'm glad I didn't misread you Dr. Montgomery.” Auden lugs the heavy bag she brought with her onto the desk and with one last thankful grin disappears.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“What the-”
“This patient is a nightmare,” Addison moans, her hands threaded deep into her short red locks.
Sam surveys the office, barely lit in the waning sun, papers literally covering every available inch of the office, including the sitting spaces. “You can turn her away, you know.”
“I know,” Addison nods. “It's just...I...miss being...challenged. And I love it here, I do, but sometimes I miss-”
“This?” Sam asks, shrugging at her unwillingness to step aside and let someone braver, someone stabler take over.
“If she would've caught it sooner- she won't terminate. There's not a lot I can do.” And that's the frustrating part for her, putting aside the mother's life for a moment, and thinking of only the child.
“She was healthy, young,” Sam assumes gathering a stack and carefully placing it on the edge of her desk. “She probably never thought there was anything wrong.” He pries the worn edges from Addison's hands and stretches as he begins to read.
“She's been everywhere Sam, and I- the people I've talked to this afternoon, they're laughing and telling me good luck like I've just been cursed. They're literally mocking my misfortune. Am I in over my head here?”
“You're the best,” Sam grins. Sometimes it's easy to calm Addison, sometimes it's not. He's failed as many times as he's succeeded, it depends entirely upon her willingness to receive.
“I am.” Flustered by the state of her chaotic office she agrees, because after everything that's happened over the last week her ego could use a nice little pat.
“And,” Sam continues. “I have to think that if there's one person in this world who can keep this woman alive so she can have her baby, based on sheer will and determination, well that's got you written all over it.”
“Thank you,” Addison replies dutifully, not sure if she has the energy to have any determination about anything. Hell, the man she kissed a week ago is sitting in her office giving her a metaphorical hug and all she can do is shirk away instead of saying that there was kind of a spark there for her. It's not a rocking boat she can weather at this moment.
“You're not an oncologist Addison. Don't...worry about the cancer, for now.”
“I have to-”
“Don't worry,” Sam urges. He'd tell her not to get too attached, but he's always had the same problem so the hypocritical stance doesn't seem the most appropriate even when it does need to be said. He'll leave the berating to Naomi.
“I am an idiot,” Addison deduces on her own. The next four months are going to be whirlwind of heartache, headaches, and failure. Not a prognosis that she would usually like to sign up for, not something she would advise for someone in her position, but then, she's never been particularly good about recognizing when she should step away.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I just wish there was some better protocol for this,” Addison says, waving her emptying glass in the air, Naomi on her right. She wishes she could discuss it better without breaching anything (especially now that they don't share patients), not that Auden would probably mind, as she is intent on dying.
“I wish I could help,” Naomi says wistfully. It sounds interesting, at the very least.
“Lockhart,” Addison whispers.
“No, no Addie. There are other people-”
“He takes risks-”
“What about surgery?” Naomi baits, trying to change the topic. The last thing anyone needs to do is involve Wyatt Lockhart with something.
“Couldn't hurt,” Addison suggests. It'd have be an aggressive approach this late in the game, but it could be done. “Palliatively speaking anyway.” But she doesn't appear to be in any sort of abnormal pain, the hypertension is more than likely down to her pregnancy, and Addison could almost swear that this wasn't happening, that this woman's body wasn't being ravaged by something she had no desire to compete with, but she's seen stranger things. “If she wasn't pregnant,” Addison sighs to herself. They'd almost stand a chance.
“But she is,” Sam interrupts, latching the gate behind him, and finding Addison not alone for the first time in a while. He nods at his ex-wife, and in an effort to stave off wonder and bemusement, merely pulls up a chair and suggests a topic change before Addison's patient infects the friendly atmosphere.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Four days later, after a weekend spent calling in every available favor and every contact humanly possible, Addison assembles her attack team. They all appear to be reluctant, all are busy and stuck with one foot in a warm puddle of self-absorption, and she knows that she now owes them unspeakable acts. In the case of Galveston, a date on Friday night to some horrid event that will involve her trying not to stare at his balding head and making polite chitchat with people she'll never see again.
“You don't have a conference room in this rat hole?” Melanie Harper asks, scowling, hand permanently attached to her blackberry, hoping for something more emergent to pull her away.
“I wanted to make the patient as comfortable as possible,” Addison answers assuredly, trying not to fidget in the room full of her peers, some just as, if not more, well known as she is. Sometimes she feels fourteen all over again, awkward limbs and braces cutting into her gums.
“Autumn-”
“Auden,” Melanie corrects disapprovingly, without looking up at Craig Galveston, who she has yet to have the revulsion of working with.
“Whatever,” David Nichols grins, folding the morning paper that Addison offered over his lap and checking his watch again. “Where is she-”
“Keep your pants on Nichols,” Charlotte King instructs with a hatefully barbed tongue, concurrently announcing her presence, wondering why they aren't meeting in their conference room, or even the kitchen. “Jesus Montgomery, we're sardines in here.”
“She's trying to make the patient comfortable,” David grins, earning a glare, and the loss of the Times out of his hands as Addison replaces it with the latest folder of records she has received from the east coast this week. They seem to pour in by the truckloads. Every time she leaves her office and comes back there is a new pile.
The knock on the door frame pulls them out of their enemy camaraderie and finally gives a face to those who have been drug from their warm beds or other patients and shoved onto crowded commuter flights and traffic jammed freeways.
“Dr. Montgomery?” Auden squeaks, every eye focused on her presence.
“Come in, sit,” Addison directs, one seat very specifically left out into the open. “I have people I wanted you to meet.”
Addison finds herself clearing her throat before proceeding, buying time, waiting to see if her charge is going to get up and run out screaming yet. “This is Dr. Harper from UCSD, Dr. Nichols who is the head of the Urology Department at St. Ambrose, Dr. King, Chief of Staff from St. Ambrose, and Dr. Galveston, the best oncologist on the West coast.”
Auden can feel her mouth drying rapidly as they all exchange pleasantries. She expected a bit of fight from Dr. Montgomery, but nothing like this cavalcade of veterans. Some of the names she's even heard before, been referred to before she decided to write this off.
“We have an excellent clinical trial happening right now,” Melanie begins. “And judging by what Dr. Montgomery has sent me, you are the perfect candidate. This doesn't have to be a death sentence Auden, we have choices available.”
“But,” Auden fills in for her with a nod. This merry-go-round is familiar.
“Pregnant women are ineligible at this point,” Melanie adds with a sigh. Sometimes all they need is a little nudge, a little light at the end of the tunnel. Or someone to actually flip the switch in their brains.
“Ms.-”
“Auden,” the patient corrects. This is beyond personal, there's no need for formalities.
“Auden,” Dr. Galveston resumes. “Pregnancy shouldn't be a reason to hold off treatment, especially a case as advanced as yours. Timing is of the essence here. You are young, realistically speaking, if you'll allow, children won't be a problem for you in the future. We need to focus on this now, not in four months.”
“I'm not holding off,” Auden stands, firm in her position as Dr. Montgomery's face drops in failure. “Tell me what I can do and I will do it.”
“RCC can be resistant to radiation, and chemotherapy, however there has been success with multiple inhibitors-”
“I'm not killing my child so I can maybe live another three weeks,” Auden proclaims.
“I talking full remission Ms.- Auden.”
“I”m....I can't do this,” Auden decides instantaneously, storming out of the room only to be caught by Addison one foot into the elevator.
“I'm want to help,” Addison breathes unsteadily, climbing into the elevator as Auden jams the keys in impatiently. She's already in so damn deep, everything is a paper cut on an already sore wound.
“By bombarding me with the same information, the same pitying looks I have been getting for the last several months? I know all this. I made a choice. I'm not changing my mind so you can go tell your little friends to pack it up and take it home because I don't...care, I just can't, okay?”
“Okay,” Addison agrees weakly.
“You always do this? Decide that you know what's best for people you hardly know? Because I can assure you, it's only moderately annoying, your high and mighty pedestal,” Auden finishes, reverted back to sarcasm and and the nasty techniques that usually get people to dash away.
“I'm a doctor,” Addison scoffs, equally infuriated. She weighs the outcomes, and advises based on many variables. “We could operate,” Addison tacks on softly, a minute later, when the elevator jams between floors. It's the only luck she's being gifted today.
“It's inoperable,” Auden replies. “It's in lymph nodes or something.”
“Renal vein,” Addison corrects, though heaven knows it could have spread to a lymph node by now, her last tests were over a month ago. “A laparoscopic nephrectomy would be the most effective option, I think, and there have been reports of regression after the primary tumor was removed. Surgery won't cure you but, it may do more good than you think.”
“The baby?”
“It's the safest choice for the baby, and I'll be able to monitor her the entire time. If you prefer, we could wait a few more weeks, just in case, but I'd advise moving on this as soon as you're comfortable. Recovery only takes around six days in the hospital, two to three weeks after that.”
“She's strong,” Auden remarks offhandedly, clutching her purse like a lifeline.
“You both are.”
“I'll think about it,” Auden replies, her voice coming to life for the first time, as the metal box jumps back to life, quivering beneath their matching red heels.
Addison leans against the wall, her stomach punched in from the latest beating. It's a middle ground, their compromise, and not one she is happy idly watching slip by.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You're too attached,” Naomi says, stroking her friend's hair, her head on her lap, the practice below long since closed for the day.
“Thanks,” Addison moans, twisting further into Naomi's legs, seeking comfort from the only person that will still provide it, even if she is telling her how big of a moron she is while it happens.
“You should take a step back, stop bringing this home with you every single night,” Naomi advises, pointing to the crate that Addison has been seen lugging out of her trunk each morning this week. “It's not good for you.”
“I know,” Addison whispers. Clinging though, she does that inadvertently, it comes with being a closet idealist. And she hasn't heard back from Auden or any of the others that she brought out after the disaster that was their meeting.
“Let's go out,” Naomi declares. “Sam has Maya, we could go grab some drinks, maybe do some dancing...”
“You'll dance with me?” Addison asks unsure, it's a rare occasion, getting Naomi to shake it anywhere other than her own living room.
“Sure, I could use a little adventure too,” Naomi complies willingly. Her world has become a monotonous routing of yelling at her daughter, yelling at Sam about their daughter, and yelling silently about her own practice not running how she envisioned it. Case in point, she'd rather come back to work here. It still feels like home.
“What would you do?” Addison asks, needing backup, support that she'll never admit to with words.
“The same thing you are already doing,” Naomi gives, pulling her fingers from Addison's shiny curls.
“This sucks,” Addison whines.
“We need to focus on the good stuff for awhile.”
“There is no good stuff Nae, that's the problem. It was supposed to be...different here.”
“I know,” Naomi acknowledges. This was Addison's do-over, her escape from the drag of divorce and mistresses and insane days of back-to-back surgeries. Instead, it's been nothing but self-induced heartache. “I know.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I...uh, your car wasn't here, I didn't see...I wanted to make sure you made it home, you weren't looking so great today,” Sam tries to explain, nervously letting his toes pull on the sock of his opposite foot. It's four in the morning, and he's yet to be able to sleep.
“I'm fine,” Addison dismisses, pulling her head from the throw pillow on her not-so comfortable for resting couch, and curling her feet back under her legs, encouraging him to come forward.
Sam finds his hands pressed into the smooth skin of her ankle before he can think, it's a reflex, aiding her into a relaxed state. “What are we doing Addison?” he asks, trying not to wheeze as he thinks about the possibility of a relationship with one of the friends he has known the longest. It was always her, until it wasn't. And Addison is family now. It's such a blurry line, his attraction to her is palpable but so is his hesitance.
“I was sleeping,” Addison notifies him, pulling her blanket higher over her dress, aching heels wound in his talented fingers. Drinking and dancing wasn't exactly what she needed, but it was momentarily fun, and it's better than nothing.
“I meant-”
“Sam, don't,” Addison yawns, stretching out over his lap, knees nearly brushing as she snuggles back into the couch.
“Ok,” he nods, leaning away from her and taking the other end of the couch as his own for the next few hours as she seems too out of it to free him of her legs. It's not like he particularly minds getting to cozy up, it's nice to have human contact every once in a while. Even when being so close to her makes his heart race so fast he can't even shut his eyes. He almost wishes he would've let her follow through, tug his shirt off that night, at least then he'd know exactly where they stand.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I can't do it,” Auden imparts, sweeping into Addison's office three weeks later. She missed last week's appointment but she was busy with things. “The surgery, I can't.”
“Auden-”
“Don't,” she warns. “Don't make the speech. I feel fine, and she's kicking me harder than ever. We are good-”
“You are dying,” Addison says sternly. She doesn't know how to make it any more real for this patient. “You will die soon.”
“And I'm not the one who is having a hard time getting over it,” Auden thunders, her purse dropping onto the coffee table.
“Fine, fine,” Addison replies, her palms in the air. It's not her business. Her business will be the baby, she decided six days ago, sitting alone in the exam room for the entire hour and half she had alloted the appointment. It was disappointing, but not surprising given the circumstances under which they left things. “I know how scary this must for you-”
“I'm not afraid,” Auden smiles, taking a seat. “I used to be afraid, of everything. I was afraid I'd never get married, but I did. I was afraid I'd never find a job that could pay the mortgage, but I did. And then I was afraid my husband would leave me, and he did, and this happened. I mean, does it get any worse? What's there to be afraid of anymore? I'm in the worst case scenario.”
“What I was trying to say was we have an excellent- Dr. Turner is an amazing...person, if you ever want someone to talk to. I'd be happy to help set you up with her.” Addison is keeping her distance, perched behind her desk, toes tapping anxiously. Something about this woman has her stomach in knots constantly, and she hates it.
“I'm not angry, and I'm not bargaining, I'm certainly not in denial. I don't know what we'd talk about, I've accepted this.”
“Well, if you stop by the front desk on your way out they'll get you set up with another appointment. And thank you, for coming by, for letting me know your decision.”
“That's it?” Auden asks skeptically.
“That's it.” Maybe if she keeps their meetings brief and breezy she'll be less affected by the fuzzy rain closing in on the room. Maybe she'll be able to function like a normal human again.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You've been knocking it back pretty hard lately,” Sam imparts upon the redhead, taking his standard seat next to her, watching the ocean roll into the sunset.
“Desperate times,” Addison smiles sloppily, tipping her drink once more, draining the delicious liquid.
“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Sam wonders aloud, removing the nearly empty bottle of wine from her reach and placing it on the other side of his chair.
“I don't need another relationship with three people in it,” Addison answers, deflecting, bringing up another pertinent topic. “I've...done that already.”
“Naomi?” Sam groans, spreading himself across the lounger, fixating on the sinking sun, the orange gleam bouncing off the sugary clouds above them. Addison's draped in a blanket, but it must be out of comfort, the temperature blissfully warm for the season. “This isn't hers...she doesn't get to choose.”
Addison resigns into silence, compounded with the knowledge that while Sam may care about what Naomi would do, the risk outweighs the potential damage. The kissing has been good, especially this morning in the elevator, but the desperate times she speaks of often color her decision making skills. “You're one of the good ones,” Addison says pensively, setting down her glass, tangling her legs in the thin material of her cream colored blanket. As his friend she wants to advise him that he doesn't need her kind of crazy instability, but as a woman who is suddenly finding herself attracted to the last person in the world she thought she'd date, she's confused. And the confusion leads to drinking, it's a big circle.
Before he can launch into his carefully prepared speech about his life is his now, and how he makes his own choices, the doorbell rips through the open doors, startling Addison. He follows her into the house, partially out of curiosity, partially out of concern for the alcohol she has in her system.
“Auden, what are- how- what are you doing here?” Addison asks, self-consciously pulling her sweater closed over her low cut shirt. Weird things have happened in her line of duty, but no one has ever shown up on her doorstep here. No one has ever been able to figure out where she lives.
“Addison?” Sam questions, trying to peer around the cracked door to see what she sees. “Everything alright?”
“I interrupted something,” Auden gulps.
“I-you, no,” Addison stumbles, flustered by the bombarding on both ends, and the liquor swirling through her head. “Hold on,” she explains, latching the door again, blocking her patient and turning to Sam. “We can do this another time.”
“Is that your patient?”
“Go home,” Addison instructs.
“I'm not leaving you alone with her. What is she doing here anyway?”
“If you'd leave, I could find out,” Addison informs him, tracing the planes of muscle under his shirt, thankful that there is someone pressing them to hurry up. Tonight is one of those nights where she could blow it all up. The only effort he makes toward moving ends up pushing her closer to the wall, and she hears another light knock as Sam nips at her neck confidently. “You live three feet away, if I scream, you will hear me.”
“Promise me you'll scream then,” Sam commands, causing both of their bodies to heat in the minimal space.
“Dr. Montgomery?”
“Ok, go time,” Addison instructs, her voice finding a meaningful edge as she pushes him away.
“Call me,” Sam says, already walking away from the scene of the next crash.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison?” Sam questions, trying to bring her out of her pale reverie as she enters his home from the back doors. “What happened?”
“I can't stay,” Addison breathes, inhaling the delicious scent of Sam's home cooking. “She's in the bathroom.”
“Ok,” Sam nods, trying to follow her ghost-like moments around his living room. “Are you alright?”
“I-she,” Addison shakes her head, trying to overcome the tail-end of the conversation she just had. “My father- she said her mother, worked, was his secretary- I think-”
“No,” Sam disagrees, that's too far fetched even for the Montgomerys. Addison has Archer, and that's it.
“She said...that's how she got my address. Her mother- I should go.”
“Addison,” Sam commands from the kitchen, pointing his knife. “I'm coming with you. No arguing.”
He has to hear this ridiculousness with his own ears, he needs her not to fall off the deep end tonight and go chasing after the skin under his collar, or press her lips to his neck, because he's losing the battle with his mind on all the ways this cannot possibly be acceptable.
~-~-~-~-~-~
He doesn't want to see it, each person taking a different seat in Addison's house, but there are some similarities. Then again, his eyes could be playing tricks on him. It's in the jaw, and the chin, he decides. Auden is shorter, not by much, and her hair is strikingly dark. And he has to hand it to Addison, she definitely looks far from her death bed. As he listens to the patient recount her short childhood with a fluttering mother, and an equally absent father, he feels almost bad, and he can only imagine the guilt Addison is compelled with, but his mouth still hangs open when she urges Auden to stay with her tonight.
“You really think that's a good idea?” Sam hisses, when Auden is away, presumably locked in the guest room.
“I had to,” Addison insists, receiving a loud sigh in response.
“You have to call them,” Sam directs, reaching for his own phone out of his back pocket.
“I can't.”
“You have to,” Sam states again, gently placing the device in her hand, and giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.
“It's- we don't...do this Sam. We don't talk.”
“You need to start then,” Sam replies, frustrated by her family dynamics. He doesn't understand them, never has, but they've always been perfectly nice to him, even when they are busy mucking up Addison's life. “You can do this.”
“Not tonight,” Addison pleads, giving back his phone, and sinking into the white chair, hands holding her head over the table she never eats at.
“Addison-”
“Sam, it's two in the morning there. Will you just...will you stay with me, tonight?” Despite her good intentions and at times debilitating independence, the whole situation isn't sitting right in her stomach, and she's admittedly a little frightened by the imposition. Plus, she needs to actually sleep tonight, instead of standing guard at her door, nodding off.
While his head tells him this is probably a horrible idea, his feet are tied. Because she won't call Naomi either at this hour, and he'd be overwhelmed if anything crazy happened and he wasn't here to help. “Just tonight,” he stipulates.
“Tonight.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“How long have you guys been together?” Auden asks over breakfast eight days later, Sam shuffling through the sand in his pajamas back to his own house for a shower.
“We- Sam is a friend.”
“Who is sleeping in your bed every night?” Auden clarifies, stirring the cereal in her bowl with a knowing grin.
“I- yes,” Addison agrees. For nine nights she's been wound in his arms, sleeping more peaceful than she has in months. And for nine nights it's been the same repeated phrase, “Just tonight.” Her new house guest seems less harmful than a fly, and eventually she's going to have to give up his warmth or make a move. Neither of which she is completely comfortable with yet. “I have to go,” she says after a strained moment of listening to Auden's spoon delicately tap against the side of her bowl.
They've yet to hold another conversation about anything, Addison often finding excuses to stay extra late at work, to arrive three hours earlier than normal. She even spent the weekend volunteering for Charlotte King's newest community project so as to avoid the awkwardness that her home seems to have become encased in.
She can't ask her to leave, can't turn her away, and yet she can't breathe with her there.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sam?” Addison squeaks, poking her head into his office, letting herself into his space without noting his distress. “I thought about it, I've been thinking- what are we doing? I mean, what do you want exactly, because I'm not in a place where-”
“Addison stop,” Sam directs harshly, looking up from the pile of papers in his hands, the newest one still warm from the copier.
“I- do you-”
“Stop! Just stop for a minute!” Sam yells, grabbing her full attention. She storms away, cheeks red before he has a chance to explain his random outburst.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“We need to talk to you about something,” Naomi says, taking a seat at Addison's desk, Sam on her side.
Addison wipes her cheeks carelessly, they've both seen her cry too many times to count anymore, and she cannot honestly believe that he went and blabbered to Naomi before they even had a chance to discuss what was happening or more than likely not happening. “I thought you were my friend,” she snarls at Sam, Naomi not following along. “We- You went to Naomi!”
“Not about that!” Sam squawks.
“Addison, sit down,” Naomi interrupts their shouting match, pointing at the chair. “Sam, explain.”
“It's nothing,” he emphasizes, glaring at Addison. Sometimes he thinks she is honestly trying to destroy him, then again, that can just be the price you pay for playing with fire.
“Something-”
“I went to Naomi,” Sam begins, talking over his ex-wife's suspicions. “I found something on Auden.”
“And Sam didn't know how to handle it, because Sam never knows how to handle confrontation,” Naomi continues, ignoring his objections, “so he came to me.”
“What?” Addison asks, trying to sneak a look at the file in her best friend's hands.
“Remember that we're here for you,” Naomi says, patting Addison's arm.
“What is it?”
“Here,” Sam gruffs, handing over his research. “I- there was just something about her, she...didn't seem...right.”
“This isn't right-”
“She's a doctor Addison,” Naomi explains softly. Sam did a very overly thorough investigation.
“But she, she said-”
“I know,” Sam nods. “She said a lot of things,” he hints at. If she can lie about something like this, there is no end to her storytelling, to the reasons he's been holding Addison every night for the last week, and not even once gotten so much as a kiss on the cheek.
“I really believed her,” Addison claims exasperated, digging through the pages of damning evidence. Her fingers shake, hovering over the M.D. attached to everything. “She lied to me-”
“Stay calm,” Naomi urges, blocking the door with her body when Addison stands up.
“I have to go home,” Addison gulps, shoving the thick file into her purse.
“That's probably a good idea,” Naomi replies, relieved.
“You have patients,” Sam interjects, fully aware of what, or rather who, is waiting for her at home.
“Sam,” Naomi scolds. “Just push them.”
“I- I can't, we're behind. Addison-”
“I'm going home,” Addison calls from the hallway, determined heels clicking until the soft echoes halt after the stairway door latches.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You said you worked in a cubicle, you said you filled out forms for a living!” Addison shouts, Auden backed into the staircase. “You lied to me.”
“I did fill out forms, and my office was practically a cubicle,” Auden tries to fix, gripping the banister, feet edging upward, attempting to get a height advantage.
“You're a doctor.” Addison laughs, smacking the file onto the kitchen counter, reaching for a tall glass and the half empty bottle of wine three feet away. “And you sat there, pretending to be nervous, pretending to not understand!”
“I was scared-”
“Ha!” Addison accuses, her victory coming in at last place, barely more than completely meaningless.
“You try swallowing the irony of being a doctor and not knowing-”
“If that's even true,” Addison corrects, finally finding the urge to call The Captain and demand an answer to the other question she refuses to think is real. “Get out of my house.”
“Addison-”
“You made me feel bad for you, you made me think you were all alone!” She made her sympathize and make it personal, she was played like a finely tuned piano. “I took you into my home. I-I...get out,” she gives up the fighting, gives up on the person she doesn't even know, a stranger. There's no point.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I fired my patient,” Addison mumbles, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders a little tighter, leaning on Sam's back wall.
“Good for you,” Sam responds, tipping his beer back. He spent the better part of the day trying not to chase after her, talking himself out of checking up on her. He doesn't want to smother, he doesn't want to congest her thinking or his.
“How does this always happen to me?” Addison laughs sorely.
“You wanted to help,” Sam rationalizes for her, offering her a drink, even though he can tell from her glazed eyes that she's already helped herself.
She turns down his beer, trying to clear her fuzzy mind. “Sam, we can't do this.”
“I know,” he smiles, still affected by the oddity of this afternoon. Naomi is supposed to know her best, Naomi staked her claim first.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Sam hushes, drawing her in for a friendly hug. If anything, they've gotten closer from the whole ordeal, and it's never bad to have another comrade in the dusty storms of office bickering and loopy patients.
“I screwed it up-”
“We both did,” he assures her, more than happy to take the blame for kissing her first and for kissing her back. He did nothing but send her head spinning into happy little cartoons where they lived gloriously ever after, but that's not reality. Not their reality. “Stay for dinner?”
“I'd like that.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 1/3
Pairing: Addison-centric, but also a fair amount of Sam/Addison.
Rating: Erring on the side of caution for the duration, R.
Summary: A/U after 3.10. Addison encounters an unconventional patient that challenges what she thinks she knows about medicine, mortality, and family.
A/N: There really are no words to explain this, I just wanted to try something different. And I've never created my own character, I'm perfectly content to play with things already given to us, but this story will not leave me alone. It's definitely a little different from my usual offerings, so I hope it can remain enjoyable. Title borrowed from Gifts From Enola, chapter title from Followed By Ghosts.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Dear Monsters, Be Patient
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sorry,” Addison breathes unprofessionally as she topples into the exam room, still in the process of shedding her coat and dropping her keys on the counter. “My cat escaped...well, not escaped per se,” she explains, washing her hands, the running water rushing through the metal sink softly. “I'm not usually late, for future reference,” she smiles, pivoting on the spike of her heel. After Milo's gallivanting around the neighborhood, the traffic, and the nauseating feeling that came with asking Dell for help an hour ago, she'd love nothing more than to fall into her office chair and mourn her life over a strong cup of coffee and fresh crossword puzzle.
“I get it,” the woman beside her sympathizes refreshingly. It's sincere, and she fidgets under Addison's scrutiny, shivering under the weight of their very first face-to-face and the paper thin paper gown.
“So,” Addison purses her lips, deciding to take a shot at the name, “Autumn, how are you feeling?”
“Auden,” the woman smiles, “with a D.”
“Sorry again,” Addison laughs, scratching out the sloppy notes she made earlier on the reference from a long lost friend that she found scattered in her stack of pink messages yesterday. After the world came crashing down, after she spent hours upon hours lying very still, trying to wrap her mind around what was happening with her drama filled family from hell, she got a little more than behind. And she's resolutely informed her mind that they are also not thinking about anything that happened while they were in town. It's too much to grasp, to attempt and figure out, it's really best left untouched.
“It's a boy's name,” Auden laughs uneasily. “My mother...was...crazy, literally, Alzheimer's, well not when she named me so I suppose there's not a good excuse there...but she was always just off kilter, God rest her soul,” she finishes out of breath, hands already raising to her face. “That was about a hundred different things you didn't need to know, we're completely even now.”
“It's alright to be nervous,” Addison comforts. First time mothers have been grating on her nerves lately, but this one may be different. “I'm going to start-”
“I'm not good...with medicine related things,” Auden interrupts. “Maybe...you could just, you know, do what you need to do, and don't tell me. My imagination has got it under control, trust me.”
“Why don't you tell me why you came to L.A.,” Addison says, securing her second glove, pulling the instrument tray closer. She's surprised how good she's gotten at carrying on conversations through these things. There should be new Olympic categories.
“I...needed a change, oh okay, that's still pretty cold.” Auden takes a second to recover, wishing there was music in the room, something other than the sound of her voice and the clanking of uncivilized machinery. “I felt like I couldn't breathe, so I left. I don't know, it sounds stupid now.”
“No, I understand,” Addison says, even taking a moment to look up and make eye contact.
“Why'd you become a doctor?” she bursts, a second later, grabbing the redhead's undivided attention. “That's too much, isn't it?”
“It's...fine.” Addison purses her lips, buying time. There was a short answer, the one she always gave, and then there was the real one, that would probably take four hours and seven proper years of therapy to explain. Guilt, father, mother, an incessant need to prove herself to people who don't give a damn. “I always knew I wanted to help people, babies especially. This was my best option to be able to do that.” Door number one. Behind door number two there's a never-ending hallway.
“You like your job,” Auden observes, voice squeaking as the woman between her legs gathers yet another sample.
“I love my job,” Addison corrects, pulling back, jotting down a few quick notes about her chatty patient. All in all, not exactly how she saw her day being started, but not entirely unpleasant.
“That's rare, you know, most people hate their jobs. I hate mine, or hated, I guess should say. Everything gets so stuffy, and the hate just builds and builds until bam! And the next thing you know, you're taking a mental health week on a plane flying across the country.”
“What was your job?” Addison asks with waning interest. There are a few other things catching her eye at this point, sending her mind spinning in directions she doesn't want it to go for this particular patient.
There's an undeniable charisma swarming the room, a connection that she'd rather not feel at this point. It's always harder when she gets overly attached.
“Something in a cubicle. There were a lot of useless forms involved. I don't even remember what the real title was anymore. I was some number, not a name, certainly not a face with a name. I'm sure I've already been replaced by another random graduate student. We're dispensable like that,” Auden exhales loudly as her doctor prepares to drop even colder gel on her stomach. “It's a girl, they said, before.”
Addison grins, skillfully moving the wand until she can confirm for her patient that it is, indeed, a girl. A healthy, thumb sucking girl.
“I'm inappropriate sometimes. I laugh when everyone is crying in movie theaters, and when little kids fall down... and old people, especially old people. And I always manage to find the best way to stick my foot in my mouth. I guess I did inherent a large quantity of my crazy mother, but I think I'd be a decent parent. In the long run, that is. In the short run I'd probably embarrass the poor thing, and set its hair on fire or something, but...in the long run, I'd be good for it, I think...” Auden stops herself, realizing that Addison hasn't said anything in quiet a while. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Addison hums half-heartedly. “Everything looks really good.” She takes the opportunity to pat Auden's arm reassuringly, and then begins gathering her supplies. “I'm just...I'm going to go drop all of this off at the lab, and someone will call you when it's ready.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Auden bites into her lip, legs still self-consciously wound in the stirrups. “I talk too much, that's what Neil always said, probably why he left me...hindsight's a bitch. But, I don't mean to offend-”
“You did nothing wrong,” Addison guarantees her.
“You're sure?” Auden checks. The first impression here is absolutely critical.
“Positive. I'll see you soon, and try to relax.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“She has to know, she has to be in pain...or something,” Addison paces, a pen twirling through her fingers, Sam lounging on her couch.
“Patients don't always experience severe symptoms-”
“Why would she come all the way out here?”
“She wanted air, you said,” Sam reminds her, taking to staring at the ceiling. She's just talking to talk at this point. He's been hovering lately, sure, but it's nice to hover, even if he has to deal with this. He thinks Addison needs hovering right now, she needs to be protected on occasion.
“So she came to the smog capitol of the west coast? There are amazing doctors over there. Jenkins, Halverson. She was in the best place she could be-”
“Let's assume she doesn't know,” Sam hypothesizes. “What would you do to treat her?”
“I'd terminate the pregnancy and turn her over to an oncologist. Probably one from where she was originally. She has to know. She knew she was having a girl. Someone would have told her Sam.”
“Maybe they missed it.”
“Stop playing devil's advocate!” Addison screeches, tugging at her raw scalp. It's been pulled, twisted, matted, and torn since her parent's uncalled for visit.
“Do you want me to go get Naomi?” Sam questions. He doesn't particularly care for the freak outs. If she'd stay calm and talk, then it's a different story. But when she gets fed up, they both end up trekking down a road that they know they shouldn't be taking. A road that involves kissing, and tongues, and not nearly enough regret or self-control to stop them from doing it over and over again.
“No,” Addison sighs. “I want...to be able to look at her and tell her what they didn't. I want to have a plan that she'll want. And everyone would recommend what I just recommended so...what else is there?”
“Surgery?”
“I don't have her records Sam, but I have to assume that this is everywhere. Renal cancer-”
“You won't know until you get a look. You won't know until you get her back in here. Maybe she has a reason,” Sam replies.
“I'm so sick of this week,” Addison grieves, scooting Sam's feet off the end of the couch and curling up in the vacant spot, toes hiding under her legs. “I'm sick of my life. I hate telling people that they are going to die, and soon. And if you open your mouth to say that technically we are all dying then I will hurt you.”
Against his better judgment, as so often is the case with Addison these days, Sam finds himself fastening their fingers together. Her hair is soft against his neck when she resigns, and she doesn't grumble as the loose tendrils fall from the place she pinned them earlier. “We'll figure it out, do the best we can. That's all we can do,” he pacifies.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“But I don't want to fight this,” Auden argues, her doctor seated defensively behind her desk, papers scattered over the surface. “I didn't come out here for a second opinion or tenth opinion, or for a cure. I came out here to give my child the best. That's you.”
“You want to die,” Addison huffs defeated.
“That's like admitting that you want to lose. And no one ever wants to lose Dr. Montgomery. I just...I'm playing the game a different way. I thought you were the right fit, after everyone that I've seen, but Los Angeles is a big town-”
“And now you're threatening me,” Addison interjects. She saw this going differently. She saw herself offering the box of tissues behind her, she saw herself holding a hand.
“It's only a threat if you care in the first place, otherwise it's a favor,” Auden chimes, sometimes she still feels like she's fifteen, held under the strict scrutiny of those who have no right to judge in the first place.
“You have options,” Addison fights back, not okay with sitting on the good medicine that she's learned. She can't stand to watch someone wither away, she just doesn't have it in her right now.
“I'm not lucky. I'm not a lucky person. I'm remarkably unremarkable Dr. Montgomery. I'm not the five percent that survives this.”
“You could be.” By the end of this Addison finds she may be the one reaching for a hand, or a tissue.
“I made a choice, to do what was best by my daughter. I made an informed decision after months of tests and hundreds of doctors telling me that I was making a mistake. I'm giving the only thing that I've got left. If you don't respect it that's perfectly understandable, but tell me now before we keep wasting the time I don't have.” It's impassioned enough, Auden believes, to sway the jury she needs.
“Okay,” Addison agrees after a few minutes tensed quiet, her computer whirring in the background. “I'm with you, but if we find a new viable option in the course-”
“I'm always open to options about saving my life,” Auden intercedes, “but I don't want to hear them if they'll end hers.” She places a loving hand on top of her slightly curved stomach, for good measure, and lets the moisture build in her eyes. She ran out of tears weeks ago, all she has now is embittered laughter.
“Deal,” Addison squeaks, already regretting the time and energy she is about to drop into this one case. She almost wants to whine for the normal patients, routine c-sections. It's a precariously balanced scale of never being satisfied.
“I'm glad I didn't misread you Dr. Montgomery.” Auden lugs the heavy bag she brought with her onto the desk and with one last thankful grin disappears.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“What the-”
“This patient is a nightmare,” Addison moans, her hands threaded deep into her short red locks.
Sam surveys the office, barely lit in the waning sun, papers literally covering every available inch of the office, including the sitting spaces. “You can turn her away, you know.”
“I know,” Addison nods. “It's just...I...miss being...challenged. And I love it here, I do, but sometimes I miss-”
“This?” Sam asks, shrugging at her unwillingness to step aside and let someone braver, someone stabler take over.
“If she would've caught it sooner- she won't terminate. There's not a lot I can do.” And that's the frustrating part for her, putting aside the mother's life for a moment, and thinking of only the child.
“She was healthy, young,” Sam assumes gathering a stack and carefully placing it on the edge of her desk. “She probably never thought there was anything wrong.” He pries the worn edges from Addison's hands and stretches as he begins to read.
“She's been everywhere Sam, and I- the people I've talked to this afternoon, they're laughing and telling me good luck like I've just been cursed. They're literally mocking my misfortune. Am I in over my head here?”
“You're the best,” Sam grins. Sometimes it's easy to calm Addison, sometimes it's not. He's failed as many times as he's succeeded, it depends entirely upon her willingness to receive.
“I am.” Flustered by the state of her chaotic office she agrees, because after everything that's happened over the last week her ego could use a nice little pat.
“And,” Sam continues. “I have to think that if there's one person in this world who can keep this woman alive so she can have her baby, based on sheer will and determination, well that's got you written all over it.”
“Thank you,” Addison replies dutifully, not sure if she has the energy to have any determination about anything. Hell, the man she kissed a week ago is sitting in her office giving her a metaphorical hug and all she can do is shirk away instead of saying that there was kind of a spark there for her. It's not a rocking boat she can weather at this moment.
“You're not an oncologist Addison. Don't...worry about the cancer, for now.”
“I have to-”
“Don't worry,” Sam urges. He'd tell her not to get too attached, but he's always had the same problem so the hypocritical stance doesn't seem the most appropriate even when it does need to be said. He'll leave the berating to Naomi.
“I am an idiot,” Addison deduces on her own. The next four months are going to be whirlwind of heartache, headaches, and failure. Not a prognosis that she would usually like to sign up for, not something she would advise for someone in her position, but then, she's never been particularly good about recognizing when she should step away.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I just wish there was some better protocol for this,” Addison says, waving her emptying glass in the air, Naomi on her right. She wishes she could discuss it better without breaching anything (especially now that they don't share patients), not that Auden would probably mind, as she is intent on dying.
“I wish I could help,” Naomi says wistfully. It sounds interesting, at the very least.
“Lockhart,” Addison whispers.
“No, no Addie. There are other people-”
“He takes risks-”
“What about surgery?” Naomi baits, trying to change the topic. The last thing anyone needs to do is involve Wyatt Lockhart with something.
“Couldn't hurt,” Addison suggests. It'd have be an aggressive approach this late in the game, but it could be done. “Palliatively speaking anyway.” But she doesn't appear to be in any sort of abnormal pain, the hypertension is more than likely down to her pregnancy, and Addison could almost swear that this wasn't happening, that this woman's body wasn't being ravaged by something she had no desire to compete with, but she's seen stranger things. “If she wasn't pregnant,” Addison sighs to herself. They'd almost stand a chance.
“But she is,” Sam interrupts, latching the gate behind him, and finding Addison not alone for the first time in a while. He nods at his ex-wife, and in an effort to stave off wonder and bemusement, merely pulls up a chair and suggests a topic change before Addison's patient infects the friendly atmosphere.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Four days later, after a weekend spent calling in every available favor and every contact humanly possible, Addison assembles her attack team. They all appear to be reluctant, all are busy and stuck with one foot in a warm puddle of self-absorption, and she knows that she now owes them unspeakable acts. In the case of Galveston, a date on Friday night to some horrid event that will involve her trying not to stare at his balding head and making polite chitchat with people she'll never see again.
“You don't have a conference room in this rat hole?” Melanie Harper asks, scowling, hand permanently attached to her blackberry, hoping for something more emergent to pull her away.
“I wanted to make the patient as comfortable as possible,” Addison answers assuredly, trying not to fidget in the room full of her peers, some just as, if not more, well known as she is. Sometimes she feels fourteen all over again, awkward limbs and braces cutting into her gums.
“Autumn-”
“Auden,” Melanie corrects disapprovingly, without looking up at Craig Galveston, who she has yet to have the revulsion of working with.
“Whatever,” David Nichols grins, folding the morning paper that Addison offered over his lap and checking his watch again. “Where is she-”
“Keep your pants on Nichols,” Charlotte King instructs with a hatefully barbed tongue, concurrently announcing her presence, wondering why they aren't meeting in their conference room, or even the kitchen. “Jesus Montgomery, we're sardines in here.”
“She's trying to make the patient comfortable,” David grins, earning a glare, and the loss of the Times out of his hands as Addison replaces it with the latest folder of records she has received from the east coast this week. They seem to pour in by the truckloads. Every time she leaves her office and comes back there is a new pile.
The knock on the door frame pulls them out of their enemy camaraderie and finally gives a face to those who have been drug from their warm beds or other patients and shoved onto crowded commuter flights and traffic jammed freeways.
“Dr. Montgomery?” Auden squeaks, every eye focused on her presence.
“Come in, sit,” Addison directs, one seat very specifically left out into the open. “I have people I wanted you to meet.”
Addison finds herself clearing her throat before proceeding, buying time, waiting to see if her charge is going to get up and run out screaming yet. “This is Dr. Harper from UCSD, Dr. Nichols who is the head of the Urology Department at St. Ambrose, Dr. King, Chief of Staff from St. Ambrose, and Dr. Galveston, the best oncologist on the West coast.”
Auden can feel her mouth drying rapidly as they all exchange pleasantries. She expected a bit of fight from Dr. Montgomery, but nothing like this cavalcade of veterans. Some of the names she's even heard before, been referred to before she decided to write this off.
“We have an excellent clinical trial happening right now,” Melanie begins. “And judging by what Dr. Montgomery has sent me, you are the perfect candidate. This doesn't have to be a death sentence Auden, we have choices available.”
“But,” Auden fills in for her with a nod. This merry-go-round is familiar.
“Pregnant women are ineligible at this point,” Melanie adds with a sigh. Sometimes all they need is a little nudge, a little light at the end of the tunnel. Or someone to actually flip the switch in their brains.
“Ms.-”
“Auden,” the patient corrects. This is beyond personal, there's no need for formalities.
“Auden,” Dr. Galveston resumes. “Pregnancy shouldn't be a reason to hold off treatment, especially a case as advanced as yours. Timing is of the essence here. You are young, realistically speaking, if you'll allow, children won't be a problem for you in the future. We need to focus on this now, not in four months.”
“I'm not holding off,” Auden stands, firm in her position as Dr. Montgomery's face drops in failure. “Tell me what I can do and I will do it.”
“RCC can be resistant to radiation, and chemotherapy, however there has been success with multiple inhibitors-”
“I'm not killing my child so I can maybe live another three weeks,” Auden proclaims.
“I talking full remission Ms.- Auden.”
“I”m....I can't do this,” Auden decides instantaneously, storming out of the room only to be caught by Addison one foot into the elevator.
“I'm want to help,” Addison breathes unsteadily, climbing into the elevator as Auden jams the keys in impatiently. She's already in so damn deep, everything is a paper cut on an already sore wound.
“By bombarding me with the same information, the same pitying looks I have been getting for the last several months? I know all this. I made a choice. I'm not changing my mind so you can go tell your little friends to pack it up and take it home because I don't...care, I just can't, okay?”
“Okay,” Addison agrees weakly.
“You always do this? Decide that you know what's best for people you hardly know? Because I can assure you, it's only moderately annoying, your high and mighty pedestal,” Auden finishes, reverted back to sarcasm and and the nasty techniques that usually get people to dash away.
“I'm a doctor,” Addison scoffs, equally infuriated. She weighs the outcomes, and advises based on many variables. “We could operate,” Addison tacks on softly, a minute later, when the elevator jams between floors. It's the only luck she's being gifted today.
“It's inoperable,” Auden replies. “It's in lymph nodes or something.”
“Renal vein,” Addison corrects, though heaven knows it could have spread to a lymph node by now, her last tests were over a month ago. “A laparoscopic nephrectomy would be the most effective option, I think, and there have been reports of regression after the primary tumor was removed. Surgery won't cure you but, it may do more good than you think.”
“The baby?”
“It's the safest choice for the baby, and I'll be able to monitor her the entire time. If you prefer, we could wait a few more weeks, just in case, but I'd advise moving on this as soon as you're comfortable. Recovery only takes around six days in the hospital, two to three weeks after that.”
“She's strong,” Auden remarks offhandedly, clutching her purse like a lifeline.
“You both are.”
“I'll think about it,” Auden replies, her voice coming to life for the first time, as the metal box jumps back to life, quivering beneath their matching red heels.
Addison leans against the wall, her stomach punched in from the latest beating. It's a middle ground, their compromise, and not one she is happy idly watching slip by.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You're too attached,” Naomi says, stroking her friend's hair, her head on her lap, the practice below long since closed for the day.
“Thanks,” Addison moans, twisting further into Naomi's legs, seeking comfort from the only person that will still provide it, even if she is telling her how big of a moron she is while it happens.
“You should take a step back, stop bringing this home with you every single night,” Naomi advises, pointing to the crate that Addison has been seen lugging out of her trunk each morning this week. “It's not good for you.”
“I know,” Addison whispers. Clinging though, she does that inadvertently, it comes with being a closet idealist. And she hasn't heard back from Auden or any of the others that she brought out after the disaster that was their meeting.
“Let's go out,” Naomi declares. “Sam has Maya, we could go grab some drinks, maybe do some dancing...”
“You'll dance with me?” Addison asks unsure, it's a rare occasion, getting Naomi to shake it anywhere other than her own living room.
“Sure, I could use a little adventure too,” Naomi complies willingly. Her world has become a monotonous routing of yelling at her daughter, yelling at Sam about their daughter, and yelling silently about her own practice not running how she envisioned it. Case in point, she'd rather come back to work here. It still feels like home.
“What would you do?” Addison asks, needing backup, support that she'll never admit to with words.
“The same thing you are already doing,” Naomi gives, pulling her fingers from Addison's shiny curls.
“This sucks,” Addison whines.
“We need to focus on the good stuff for awhile.”
“There is no good stuff Nae, that's the problem. It was supposed to be...different here.”
“I know,” Naomi acknowledges. This was Addison's do-over, her escape from the drag of divorce and mistresses and insane days of back-to-back surgeries. Instead, it's been nothing but self-induced heartache. “I know.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I...uh, your car wasn't here, I didn't see...I wanted to make sure you made it home, you weren't looking so great today,” Sam tries to explain, nervously letting his toes pull on the sock of his opposite foot. It's four in the morning, and he's yet to be able to sleep.
“I'm fine,” Addison dismisses, pulling her head from the throw pillow on her not-so comfortable for resting couch, and curling her feet back under her legs, encouraging him to come forward.
Sam finds his hands pressed into the smooth skin of her ankle before he can think, it's a reflex, aiding her into a relaxed state. “What are we doing Addison?” he asks, trying not to wheeze as he thinks about the possibility of a relationship with one of the friends he has known the longest. It was always her, until it wasn't. And Addison is family now. It's such a blurry line, his attraction to her is palpable but so is his hesitance.
“I was sleeping,” Addison notifies him, pulling her blanket higher over her dress, aching heels wound in his talented fingers. Drinking and dancing wasn't exactly what she needed, but it was momentarily fun, and it's better than nothing.
“I meant-”
“Sam, don't,” Addison yawns, stretching out over his lap, knees nearly brushing as she snuggles back into the couch.
“Ok,” he nods, leaning away from her and taking the other end of the couch as his own for the next few hours as she seems too out of it to free him of her legs. It's not like he particularly minds getting to cozy up, it's nice to have human contact every once in a while. Even when being so close to her makes his heart race so fast he can't even shut his eyes. He almost wishes he would've let her follow through, tug his shirt off that night, at least then he'd know exactly where they stand.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I can't do it,” Auden imparts, sweeping into Addison's office three weeks later. She missed last week's appointment but she was busy with things. “The surgery, I can't.”
“Auden-”
“Don't,” she warns. “Don't make the speech. I feel fine, and she's kicking me harder than ever. We are good-”
“You are dying,” Addison says sternly. She doesn't know how to make it any more real for this patient. “You will die soon.”
“And I'm not the one who is having a hard time getting over it,” Auden thunders, her purse dropping onto the coffee table.
“Fine, fine,” Addison replies, her palms in the air. It's not her business. Her business will be the baby, she decided six days ago, sitting alone in the exam room for the entire hour and half she had alloted the appointment. It was disappointing, but not surprising given the circumstances under which they left things. “I know how scary this must for you-”
“I'm not afraid,” Auden smiles, taking a seat. “I used to be afraid, of everything. I was afraid I'd never get married, but I did. I was afraid I'd never find a job that could pay the mortgage, but I did. And then I was afraid my husband would leave me, and he did, and this happened. I mean, does it get any worse? What's there to be afraid of anymore? I'm in the worst case scenario.”
“What I was trying to say was we have an excellent- Dr. Turner is an amazing...person, if you ever want someone to talk to. I'd be happy to help set you up with her.” Addison is keeping her distance, perched behind her desk, toes tapping anxiously. Something about this woman has her stomach in knots constantly, and she hates it.
“I'm not angry, and I'm not bargaining, I'm certainly not in denial. I don't know what we'd talk about, I've accepted this.”
“Well, if you stop by the front desk on your way out they'll get you set up with another appointment. And thank you, for coming by, for letting me know your decision.”
“That's it?” Auden asks skeptically.
“That's it.” Maybe if she keeps their meetings brief and breezy she'll be less affected by the fuzzy rain closing in on the room. Maybe she'll be able to function like a normal human again.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You've been knocking it back pretty hard lately,” Sam imparts upon the redhead, taking his standard seat next to her, watching the ocean roll into the sunset.
“Desperate times,” Addison smiles sloppily, tipping her drink once more, draining the delicious liquid.
“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Sam wonders aloud, removing the nearly empty bottle of wine from her reach and placing it on the other side of his chair.
“I don't need another relationship with three people in it,” Addison answers, deflecting, bringing up another pertinent topic. “I've...done that already.”
“Naomi?” Sam groans, spreading himself across the lounger, fixating on the sinking sun, the orange gleam bouncing off the sugary clouds above them. Addison's draped in a blanket, but it must be out of comfort, the temperature blissfully warm for the season. “This isn't hers...she doesn't get to choose.”
Addison resigns into silence, compounded with the knowledge that while Sam may care about what Naomi would do, the risk outweighs the potential damage. The kissing has been good, especially this morning in the elevator, but the desperate times she speaks of often color her decision making skills. “You're one of the good ones,” Addison says pensively, setting down her glass, tangling her legs in the thin material of her cream colored blanket. As his friend she wants to advise him that he doesn't need her kind of crazy instability, but as a woman who is suddenly finding herself attracted to the last person in the world she thought she'd date, she's confused. And the confusion leads to drinking, it's a big circle.
Before he can launch into his carefully prepared speech about his life is his now, and how he makes his own choices, the doorbell rips through the open doors, startling Addison. He follows her into the house, partially out of curiosity, partially out of concern for the alcohol she has in her system.
“Auden, what are- how- what are you doing here?” Addison asks, self-consciously pulling her sweater closed over her low cut shirt. Weird things have happened in her line of duty, but no one has ever shown up on her doorstep here. No one has ever been able to figure out where she lives.
“Addison?” Sam questions, trying to peer around the cracked door to see what she sees. “Everything alright?”
“I interrupted something,” Auden gulps.
“I-you, no,” Addison stumbles, flustered by the bombarding on both ends, and the liquor swirling through her head. “Hold on,” she explains, latching the door again, blocking her patient and turning to Sam. “We can do this another time.”
“Is that your patient?”
“Go home,” Addison instructs.
“I'm not leaving you alone with her. What is she doing here anyway?”
“If you'd leave, I could find out,” Addison informs him, tracing the planes of muscle under his shirt, thankful that there is someone pressing them to hurry up. Tonight is one of those nights where she could blow it all up. The only effort he makes toward moving ends up pushing her closer to the wall, and she hears another light knock as Sam nips at her neck confidently. “You live three feet away, if I scream, you will hear me.”
“Promise me you'll scream then,” Sam commands, causing both of their bodies to heat in the minimal space.
“Dr. Montgomery?”
“Ok, go time,” Addison instructs, her voice finding a meaningful edge as she pushes him away.
“Call me,” Sam says, already walking away from the scene of the next crash.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Addison?” Sam questions, trying to bring her out of her pale reverie as she enters his home from the back doors. “What happened?”
“I can't stay,” Addison breathes, inhaling the delicious scent of Sam's home cooking. “She's in the bathroom.”
“Ok,” Sam nods, trying to follow her ghost-like moments around his living room. “Are you alright?”
“I-she,” Addison shakes her head, trying to overcome the tail-end of the conversation she just had. “My father- she said her mother, worked, was his secretary- I think-”
“No,” Sam disagrees, that's too far fetched even for the Montgomerys. Addison has Archer, and that's it.
“She said...that's how she got my address. Her mother- I should go.”
“Addison,” Sam commands from the kitchen, pointing his knife. “I'm coming with you. No arguing.”
He has to hear this ridiculousness with his own ears, he needs her not to fall off the deep end tonight and go chasing after the skin under his collar, or press her lips to his neck, because he's losing the battle with his mind on all the ways this cannot possibly be acceptable.
~-~-~-~-~-~
He doesn't want to see it, each person taking a different seat in Addison's house, but there are some similarities. Then again, his eyes could be playing tricks on him. It's in the jaw, and the chin, he decides. Auden is shorter, not by much, and her hair is strikingly dark. And he has to hand it to Addison, she definitely looks far from her death bed. As he listens to the patient recount her short childhood with a fluttering mother, and an equally absent father, he feels almost bad, and he can only imagine the guilt Addison is compelled with, but his mouth still hangs open when she urges Auden to stay with her tonight.
“You really think that's a good idea?” Sam hisses, when Auden is away, presumably locked in the guest room.
“I had to,” Addison insists, receiving a loud sigh in response.
“You have to call them,” Sam directs, reaching for his own phone out of his back pocket.
“I can't.”
“You have to,” Sam states again, gently placing the device in her hand, and giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.
“It's- we don't...do this Sam. We don't talk.”
“You need to start then,” Sam replies, frustrated by her family dynamics. He doesn't understand them, never has, but they've always been perfectly nice to him, even when they are busy mucking up Addison's life. “You can do this.”
“Not tonight,” Addison pleads, giving back his phone, and sinking into the white chair, hands holding her head over the table she never eats at.
“Addison-”
“Sam, it's two in the morning there. Will you just...will you stay with me, tonight?” Despite her good intentions and at times debilitating independence, the whole situation isn't sitting right in her stomach, and she's admittedly a little frightened by the imposition. Plus, she needs to actually sleep tonight, instead of standing guard at her door, nodding off.
While his head tells him this is probably a horrible idea, his feet are tied. Because she won't call Naomi either at this hour, and he'd be overwhelmed if anything crazy happened and he wasn't here to help. “Just tonight,” he stipulates.
“Tonight.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
“How long have you guys been together?” Auden asks over breakfast eight days later, Sam shuffling through the sand in his pajamas back to his own house for a shower.
“We- Sam is a friend.”
“Who is sleeping in your bed every night?” Auden clarifies, stirring the cereal in her bowl with a knowing grin.
“I- yes,” Addison agrees. For nine nights she's been wound in his arms, sleeping more peaceful than she has in months. And for nine nights it's been the same repeated phrase, “Just tonight.” Her new house guest seems less harmful than a fly, and eventually she's going to have to give up his warmth or make a move. Neither of which she is completely comfortable with yet. “I have to go,” she says after a strained moment of listening to Auden's spoon delicately tap against the side of her bowl.
They've yet to hold another conversation about anything, Addison often finding excuses to stay extra late at work, to arrive three hours earlier than normal. She even spent the weekend volunteering for Charlotte King's newest community project so as to avoid the awkwardness that her home seems to have become encased in.
She can't ask her to leave, can't turn her away, and yet she can't breathe with her there.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“Sam?” Addison squeaks, poking her head into his office, letting herself into his space without noting his distress. “I thought about it, I've been thinking- what are we doing? I mean, what do you want exactly, because I'm not in a place where-”
“Addison stop,” Sam directs harshly, looking up from the pile of papers in his hands, the newest one still warm from the copier.
“I- do you-”
“Stop! Just stop for a minute!” Sam yells, grabbing her full attention. She storms away, cheeks red before he has a chance to explain his random outburst.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“We need to talk to you about something,” Naomi says, taking a seat at Addison's desk, Sam on her side.
Addison wipes her cheeks carelessly, they've both seen her cry too many times to count anymore, and she cannot honestly believe that he went and blabbered to Naomi before they even had a chance to discuss what was happening or more than likely not happening. “I thought you were my friend,” she snarls at Sam, Naomi not following along. “We- You went to Naomi!”
“Not about that!” Sam squawks.
“Addison, sit down,” Naomi interrupts their shouting match, pointing at the chair. “Sam, explain.”
“It's nothing,” he emphasizes, glaring at Addison. Sometimes he thinks she is honestly trying to destroy him, then again, that can just be the price you pay for playing with fire.
“Something-”
“I went to Naomi,” Sam begins, talking over his ex-wife's suspicions. “I found something on Auden.”
“And Sam didn't know how to handle it, because Sam never knows how to handle confrontation,” Naomi continues, ignoring his objections, “so he came to me.”
“What?” Addison asks, trying to sneak a look at the file in her best friend's hands.
“Remember that we're here for you,” Naomi says, patting Addison's arm.
“What is it?”
“Here,” Sam gruffs, handing over his research. “I- there was just something about her, she...didn't seem...right.”
“This isn't right-”
“She's a doctor Addison,” Naomi explains softly. Sam did a very overly thorough investigation.
“But she, she said-”
“I know,” Sam nods. “She said a lot of things,” he hints at. If she can lie about something like this, there is no end to her storytelling, to the reasons he's been holding Addison every night for the last week, and not even once gotten so much as a kiss on the cheek.
“I really believed her,” Addison claims exasperated, digging through the pages of damning evidence. Her fingers shake, hovering over the M.D. attached to everything. “She lied to me-”
“Stay calm,” Naomi urges, blocking the door with her body when Addison stands up.
“I have to go home,” Addison gulps, shoving the thick file into her purse.
“That's probably a good idea,” Naomi replies, relieved.
“You have patients,” Sam interjects, fully aware of what, or rather who, is waiting for her at home.
“Sam,” Naomi scolds. “Just push them.”
“I- I can't, we're behind. Addison-”
“I'm going home,” Addison calls from the hallway, determined heels clicking until the soft echoes halt after the stairway door latches.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You said you worked in a cubicle, you said you filled out forms for a living!” Addison shouts, Auden backed into the staircase. “You lied to me.”
“I did fill out forms, and my office was practically a cubicle,” Auden tries to fix, gripping the banister, feet edging upward, attempting to get a height advantage.
“You're a doctor.” Addison laughs, smacking the file onto the kitchen counter, reaching for a tall glass and the half empty bottle of wine three feet away. “And you sat there, pretending to be nervous, pretending to not understand!”
“I was scared-”
“Ha!” Addison accuses, her victory coming in at last place, barely more than completely meaningless.
“You try swallowing the irony of being a doctor and not knowing-”
“If that's even true,” Addison corrects, finally finding the urge to call The Captain and demand an answer to the other question she refuses to think is real. “Get out of my house.”
“Addison-”
“You made me feel bad for you, you made me think you were all alone!” She made her sympathize and make it personal, she was played like a finely tuned piano. “I took you into my home. I-I...get out,” she gives up the fighting, gives up on the person she doesn't even know, a stranger. There's no point.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I fired my patient,” Addison mumbles, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders a little tighter, leaning on Sam's back wall.
“Good for you,” Sam responds, tipping his beer back. He spent the better part of the day trying not to chase after her, talking himself out of checking up on her. He doesn't want to smother, he doesn't want to congest her thinking or his.
“How does this always happen to me?” Addison laughs sorely.
“You wanted to help,” Sam rationalizes for her, offering her a drink, even though he can tell from her glazed eyes that she's already helped herself.
She turns down his beer, trying to clear her fuzzy mind. “Sam, we can't do this.”
“I know,” he smiles, still affected by the oddity of this afternoon. Naomi is supposed to know her best, Naomi staked her claim first.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Sam hushes, drawing her in for a friendly hug. If anything, they've gotten closer from the whole ordeal, and it's never bad to have another comrade in the dusty storms of office bickering and loopy patients.
“I screwed it up-”
“We both did,” he assures her, more than happy to take the blame for kissing her first and for kissing her back. He did nothing but send her head spinning into happy little cartoons where they lived gloriously ever after, but that's not reality. Not their reality. “Stay for dinner?”
“I'd like that.”
~-~-~-~-~-~