Secret Santa for irisheyes_77
Title: A tale of two Christmases
Rating: R (for a little language)
Pairing: Mark/Addison, Mark/Callie
Summary: Mark gets more than he expected at Christmastime.
Spoilers: Follows Private Practice 2-10 (just mentions). A little AU for Grey’s.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author’s note: irisheyes_77 I’m SO sorry for the delay. Apparently when you have company for the holidays, they actually expect to be entertained. The nerve. Anyway, I really wanted to write you a Mark/Callie fic but I looked at some of your works and kinda freaked out about it, then came up with this. I hope you like it!
You don’t know what you’re doing here. You don’t know why you even came. Your eyes scan the darkened room, and then you see her. Slouched over the bar, surrounded by a clutter of empty martini glasses. Your stomach gives a little lurch and you think again that you should have just hung up the phone and tried to ignore that he had ever called.
Of course, realistically you know you didn’t ever have a choice. When it comes to her, you never feel like you have a choice.
But you had plans. Not traditional plans, by any means, but plans. With Callie. And this is not part of the plans. You were going to get drunk. And have sex. And be together. It was going to be great. Better than past Christmases, where your parents forgot you existed and thus neglected to leave you a gift, better than going through the motions with Derek and his sisters but always feeling like there was something missing, better than screwing random girls and pretending not to care that some people had loving families at home, and definitely better than the few Christmases you and Derek tried to spend with Addison in Connecticut that ended how all visits to the Montgomerys did - with her and her mother having whispered arguments in the other room and then Addison spending the rest of the evening glaring at everyone and everything or in a puddle of tears on the couch, depending on how much she’d had to drink prior to that.
You sigh as you realize that maybe some things don’t change all that much.
“Did you love Addison?”
You roll over and raise your eyebrow. Callie is staring at the ceiling, purposely not looking at you, and you wonder what brought this on. You don’t know how to answer it - not because you are afraid of telling her the truth. Callie is the first woman you feel you can say absolutely anything to, and she wouldn’t judge you for it. But because you aren’t really sure. At times you think you did. Really and truly did. You would have done anything for her. You still would. But you also know you hurt her. And she hurt you. And you hurt each other so much, it’s hard to look back on all that to figure out exactly what it was.
So you don’t answer. Instead, you respond back, “Did you love George?”
She rolls over then to look at you, her brown eyes piercing into yours like she’s searching deep within for some hidden gem that might be buried there. And then she smiles at you, a wide beaming smile, and she laughs.
“I asked you first,” she says. It’s your turn to laugh, and instead of answering, you grab her. As your lips find hers, neither one of you asks again.
---
It takes her a few seconds to realize you’re there and that you’re standing next to her. It gives you enough time to survey the scene - the empty glasses, the way she’s slumped over, the way her hair is slightly messy and her clothes slightly rumpled and you can actually see faint traces of tear tracks on her cheeks. You wonder what in the hell happened to, first of all, even make her come here, of all places - isn’t she supposed to be in the land of sun and fake boobs? - and second, why would she risk going out in public looking like she does?
But then she turns her head and you watch as she focuses her eyes on you. You see the glimmer when recognition strikes and her whole face lights up as she practically leaps off the stool into your arms.
“Mark!” she shrieks, a little too loudly in your ear, her arms encircling your neck a little too tightly. “You came!”
Her voice is a little too high-pitched and a little too over exuberant, but she’s warm and familiar in your arms, and for a second, you unconsciously grip her a little tighter until you realize what you’re doing and push her back on her stool.
She’s grinning at you in that way she has, where her whole face lights up and she makes you feel like you’re the only one in the entire universe that matters. But somewhere in your mind, you know this isn’t good, so you force yourself to focus.
“What are you doing here, Addison?”
She’s still beaming at you. “I came to see you.”
“Why?” It comes out a little icy, and even though she’s drunk, you see a quick flicker of hurt pass over her features at the tone, but then it’s gone and she’s reaching toward you to run a hand through your hair.
“I missed you,” she says huskily, leaning forward on her stool. “And I decided …” She leans even more toward you at that, as though she is going to tell you some deep dark secret, but she misjudges the distance and starts to fall forward. You grab her waist to steady her, and she giggles. “I decided,” she keeps going, “that I was stupid. So stupid. So, so, so stupid.” She giggles again. “Because I said no. I said, ‘No, Mark. No, I don’t want to be with you, Mark.’” She shakes her head at you. “But I was wrong. So wrong. So very wrong. And I don’t want to be wrong anymore. Nope. No wrong.”
She reaches out now and pats you on the head like you’re a puppy, but just before you can get annoyed, she smiles again, and for a second, her eyes turn serious as they lock on yours.
“I love you,” she whispers. “And I’ve come back.”
---
“Merry Christmas.” A brightly colored something drops on the counter before you. “I baked cookies.”
You realize then the brightly colored something is really a plate covered in both red and green saran wrap.
You look up. “Why?”
Callie shrugs. “It’s Christmas. It’s what people do.” She smirks at you. “You know, like putting up Christmas trees. And buying presents. And hanging stockings.”
“So you made cookies.”
“So I made cookies.”
“And you’re giving them to me.”
“I’m giving them to you.”
“And do I have to give you something in return?” You leer at her.
She arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, yes, you do.”
And you follow her into the empty exam room without a second thought.
---
It took you almost two hours after Addison’s confession to get her into a cab and back to your hotel room. Joe told you as you paid her tab that she had been slamming down martinis for three hours before she asked him to call you. She hadn’t told him why she was there; in fact, she hadn’t told him anything really. He’d assumed she was back for work and had let her be.
You’d spent the next three hours after you managed to somehow get her up to your room, without her falling over or you having to carry her, with her on the bathroom floor and you holding her hair and rubbing her back as she leaned over the toilet. The drunken giggles were gone, replaced by drunken tears and apologies for everything from leaving to go to LA to breaking the bet by sleeping with Alex (a crime you didn’t tell her you had already known about as she sobbingly told you she needed to tell you something and then confessed everything) to aborting your baby back in New York (an apology that was accompanied by a still stinging surge of pain through your gut).
Through her tears, she told you that you were all she thought about and that she missed you and that she wanted to try again, but even as you held her to your chest and stroked her hair, planting kisses on her temple and promising her that everything was going to be okay, you refused to let yourself believe her. And for the first time since you took her to bed that fateful night in New York, you just sat there with her and didn’t try to kiss her or have sex with her. And you wondered if it meant something.
Because this morning, as you watch her sleep in your bed, dressed in one of your old dress shirts and sweats, with her new short red hair somehow still managing to be fanned out around her head, you know there is something more to this story than she is telling you.
“You don’t love me, Addison,” is the first thing you say to her when she stirs and blinks up at you. You’re lying next to her, your hand on her waist as she lies on her side facing you.
She stares sleepily up at you when she sees you, then she groans, pressing her palm to her temple.
“Too bright,” she whines, and tries to bury her head into your shoulder.
“We need to talk about this,” you say gently as she groans again. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”
You don’t say another word as you get her the aspirin and a glass of water. She moans some more and wriggles around, trying to get comfortable and fall back asleep. You think maybe she has, when she finally speaks, her eyes still closed.
“I meant what I said last night, Mark.”
“You remember what you said?”
“Yes,” she snaps, as her eyes fly open. “I didn’t drink that much.”
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“Are you going to lecture me about drinking?”
“I don’t care how much you drank, Addison. I care about what you said.”
“I meant it.”
“How do I know that?”
She frowns at that, and her eyes flash, and you think she’s about to blow. But instead she just sighs sadly. “Spend Christmas with me and let me prove it to you.”
---
“I bought props.”
You’re trying to get work done. Okay, you’re trying to pretend to work while you stare at the scrub nurses you’re pretty sure must have just been hired since you have never seen them before, but still.
You turn to Callie, and she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“You bought props?”
“I thought we might want to re-enact Christmas tonight.”
You frown. “You do know that Jesus came about by immaculate conception, don’t you?” You’re usually up for anything but you’re not sure how a trip to Bethlehem can be all that fun.
She sees the expression on your face and breaks into laughter. “Not that Christmas! Santa and Mrs. Claus. I found hats. And toys. Lots of toys. Naughty toys.”
You feel your face light up at the thought, and she leans forward and kisses you, right there, in front of everyone. And you know that everyone includes Derek and Meredith, who you can see out of the corner of your eye. But all you can do is stare at her and secretly start counting the minutes till your shift ends.
---
You’re going to spend Christmas with Addison. It’s the least you can do, right? After all, she did fly out here, to Seattle, for you. And she asked Joe to call you. And she told you she loved you. That has to mean something, right?
You ignore the message your gut is trying to send you as you wait for her to return. Apparently she’d had such an epiphany about wanting you that she had jumped on a plane without stopping to even bother with packing. And now she needs clothes that don’t smell like puke.
She thinks you need a Christmas tree. And presents. You shove your hands in your pockets as you pace the length of the room again. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?
The phone rings before you can contemplate that, and to distract yourself, you answer it without even checking to see who’s calling.
---
Callie was right. Re-enacting Christmas at the North Pole really can be good fun.
You’re lying next to each other, your limbs still tangled, the Santa hat still somehow managing to stay attached to her head. She smiles at you.
“We should do that again,” she says.
You completely agree. “We should,” and you lean over her to go again.
Her hand meets your chest before your lips can touch hers. “Not now.”
You try for her lips again but this time she stops you with both hands.
“Callie …” You hear your voice come out almost in a whine. If you weren’t so horny, you’d almost be embarrassed.
“Spend Christmas with me.”
“Spend Christmas with you?”
She shrugs. “Do you have other plans? Are you going to cook a turkey and sit down with Derek and Meredith to share it?”
You slump back on to the bed next to her. “What kind of Christmas are you talking about here?”
She laughs. “One that involves drinking. And sex. Definitely sex.” She smiles when she sees you nod in approval. “And maybe presents.”
“Well,” you say, “presents are good. It is Christmas after all.”
You joke around some more and then spend the next few hours playing Santa again, but in the back of your mind you realize you haven’t been this excited for Christmas since you can remember.
It's then that the phone rings.
---
“Your boyfriend broke up with you.”
Your words assault her as soon as she steps through the door, her arms laden with packages. She blinks at you as they tumble from her hands, and you notice she visibly pales.
“What?” she whispers.
“Your friend Naomi called. She wondered if I had heard from you. She said they were worried about you, since you weren’t answering your phone. She said she thought you were taking it kind of hard.”
Addison manages to regain her composure. She stands straighter and focuses directly on you. “I’m fine,” she says.
“Are you?” Your voice is cold. You can’t help it. You knew there was something more going on here.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s good. It wasn’t serious. In fact, it made me realize how much I love you.”
“You don’t love me.”
She glowers. “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Why are you arguing with me about this?”
“You need to leave.”
This stops her. “What?”
“I’m not doing this again, Addison. Not now. Not ever. You don’t love me. You don’t want me. And I’m not going to be your rebound. I’m not going to be your fuck buddy. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Mark - ”
“No. Just go. I don’t want you here, Addison. I don’t love you. I never did. I want you gone. Now.”
You step around her and slam the door behind you when you leave. You know what you said was cruel, and not entirely true, but you’re angry. You should have known better.
---
“I have to go,” you say for the fifth time in what seems like the same number of minutes. “Joe said she was asking for me.”
“Of course she is.” Callie doesn’t sound angry, just resigned, but she’s putting her clothes on and trying to avoid looking at you. You’re not sure why it bothers you, but it does.
“Cal … I …”
She looks at you and you think for a second you see a glimmer of tears, but then it’s gone.
“Be careful, Mark,” she tells you.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You seem upset.”
She pulls her shirt over her head and stares at you. “You always go back you to her. It’s always about her.”
“No, it’s not.” Your defensive instincts take over. “But why does it matter?”
“I thought we were spending Christmas together.”
You try to smirk at her. “Maybe all three of us can spend Christmas together.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” And she’s brushing by you and is out the door before you even have a chance to respond.
---
You return four hours later, after slamming down a few drinks at Joe’s and venting with Derek about the evil redhead he dragged into both of your lives once upon a time, to find her still there, sitting on the edge of your bed with tears dripping down her cheeks.
You soften when you see her, and you take her hand in yours when you perch on the edge next to her. But you don’t apologize.
“You’re right,” she whispers. “He dumped me. I … really like him and he … he dumped me.” She tries to smile at you through her tears but it comes out looking more like a grimace. “I’m sorry. … I just wanted ….I just wanted someone …”
She stops before trying again, and this time her voice breaks. “I messed up. I just keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. … I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree softly.
She stands up, but she keeps her head lowered and her eyes on the ground. “I’ll go.”
You help her gather up the few things she has, and she still won’t look at you. Just before she opens the door, you stop her, your hand on her arm.
“Addison,” you say gently. “Look at me.” You try a second time, but she still won’t cooperate, so you reach out and grab her chin and turn her head till she reluctantly lifts her eyes to yours. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have come. But you could have called. You’ll always be my friend. That’s never going to change.”
She throws herself into your arms then and cries on your shoulder. You end up driving her to the airport yourself, giving her as much advice as you can on the way, and for a minute, it’s like you’re back in New York and everything between you is fine.
You give her one last hug when you drop her off at the terminal. “There’s someone out there who deserves you, Addison,” you whisper in her ear as you press her to you. “You’ll see.”
You squeeze her hand as you let her go and tell her, “Merry Christmas, Addie.” She smiles that blinding smile and you know she’s going to be okay. You both are.
---
You go straight to her apartment, praying Cristina is not around. You sigh in relief when you spot only her car in the driveway and you sigh in relief again when she opens the door.
She looks at you curiously and tries to peer around you.
“Where’s Addison?”
“I sent her home.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because …” You take a deep breath, then plunge in. “You should spend Christmas with the people you love. So here I am.”
She doesn’t say a word, but the kiss she gives you is by far the best Christmas present you have ever received.
Rating: R (for a little language)
Pairing: Mark/Addison, Mark/Callie
Summary: Mark gets more than he expected at Christmastime.
Spoilers: Follows Private Practice 2-10 (just mentions). A little AU for Grey’s.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author’s note: irisheyes_77 I’m SO sorry for the delay. Apparently when you have company for the holidays, they actually expect to be entertained. The nerve. Anyway, I really wanted to write you a Mark/Callie fic but I looked at some of your works and kinda freaked out about it, then came up with this. I hope you like it!
You don’t know what you’re doing here. You don’t know why you even came. Your eyes scan the darkened room, and then you see her. Slouched over the bar, surrounded by a clutter of empty martini glasses. Your stomach gives a little lurch and you think again that you should have just hung up the phone and tried to ignore that he had ever called.
Of course, realistically you know you didn’t ever have a choice. When it comes to her, you never feel like you have a choice.
But you had plans. Not traditional plans, by any means, but plans. With Callie. And this is not part of the plans. You were going to get drunk. And have sex. And be together. It was going to be great. Better than past Christmases, where your parents forgot you existed and thus neglected to leave you a gift, better than going through the motions with Derek and his sisters but always feeling like there was something missing, better than screwing random girls and pretending not to care that some people had loving families at home, and definitely better than the few Christmases you and Derek tried to spend with Addison in Connecticut that ended how all visits to the Montgomerys did - with her and her mother having whispered arguments in the other room and then Addison spending the rest of the evening glaring at everyone and everything or in a puddle of tears on the couch, depending on how much she’d had to drink prior to that.
You sigh as you realize that maybe some things don’t change all that much.
“Did you love Addison?”
You roll over and raise your eyebrow. Callie is staring at the ceiling, purposely not looking at you, and you wonder what brought this on. You don’t know how to answer it - not because you are afraid of telling her the truth. Callie is the first woman you feel you can say absolutely anything to, and she wouldn’t judge you for it. But because you aren’t really sure. At times you think you did. Really and truly did. You would have done anything for her. You still would. But you also know you hurt her. And she hurt you. And you hurt each other so much, it’s hard to look back on all that to figure out exactly what it was.
So you don’t answer. Instead, you respond back, “Did you love George?”
She rolls over then to look at you, her brown eyes piercing into yours like she’s searching deep within for some hidden gem that might be buried there. And then she smiles at you, a wide beaming smile, and she laughs.
“I asked you first,” she says. It’s your turn to laugh, and instead of answering, you grab her. As your lips find hers, neither one of you asks again.
---
It takes her a few seconds to realize you’re there and that you’re standing next to her. It gives you enough time to survey the scene - the empty glasses, the way she’s slumped over, the way her hair is slightly messy and her clothes slightly rumpled and you can actually see faint traces of tear tracks on her cheeks. You wonder what in the hell happened to, first of all, even make her come here, of all places - isn’t she supposed to be in the land of sun and fake boobs? - and second, why would she risk going out in public looking like she does?
But then she turns her head and you watch as she focuses her eyes on you. You see the glimmer when recognition strikes and her whole face lights up as she practically leaps off the stool into your arms.
“Mark!” she shrieks, a little too loudly in your ear, her arms encircling your neck a little too tightly. “You came!”
Her voice is a little too high-pitched and a little too over exuberant, but she’s warm and familiar in your arms, and for a second, you unconsciously grip her a little tighter until you realize what you’re doing and push her back on her stool.
She’s grinning at you in that way she has, where her whole face lights up and she makes you feel like you’re the only one in the entire universe that matters. But somewhere in your mind, you know this isn’t good, so you force yourself to focus.
“What are you doing here, Addison?”
She’s still beaming at you. “I came to see you.”
“Why?” It comes out a little icy, and even though she’s drunk, you see a quick flicker of hurt pass over her features at the tone, but then it’s gone and she’s reaching toward you to run a hand through your hair.
“I missed you,” she says huskily, leaning forward on her stool. “And I decided …” She leans even more toward you at that, as though she is going to tell you some deep dark secret, but she misjudges the distance and starts to fall forward. You grab her waist to steady her, and she giggles. “I decided,” she keeps going, “that I was stupid. So stupid. So, so, so stupid.” She giggles again. “Because I said no. I said, ‘No, Mark. No, I don’t want to be with you, Mark.’” She shakes her head at you. “But I was wrong. So wrong. So very wrong. And I don’t want to be wrong anymore. Nope. No wrong.”
She reaches out now and pats you on the head like you’re a puppy, but just before you can get annoyed, she smiles again, and for a second, her eyes turn serious as they lock on yours.
“I love you,” she whispers. “And I’ve come back.”
---
“Merry Christmas.” A brightly colored something drops on the counter before you. “I baked cookies.”
You realize then the brightly colored something is really a plate covered in both red and green saran wrap.
You look up. “Why?”
Callie shrugs. “It’s Christmas. It’s what people do.” She smirks at you. “You know, like putting up Christmas trees. And buying presents. And hanging stockings.”
“So you made cookies.”
“So I made cookies.”
“And you’re giving them to me.”
“I’m giving them to you.”
“And do I have to give you something in return?” You leer at her.
She arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, yes, you do.”
And you follow her into the empty exam room without a second thought.
---
It took you almost two hours after Addison’s confession to get her into a cab and back to your hotel room. Joe told you as you paid her tab that she had been slamming down martinis for three hours before she asked him to call you. She hadn’t told him why she was there; in fact, she hadn’t told him anything really. He’d assumed she was back for work and had let her be.
You’d spent the next three hours after you managed to somehow get her up to your room, without her falling over or you having to carry her, with her on the bathroom floor and you holding her hair and rubbing her back as she leaned over the toilet. The drunken giggles were gone, replaced by drunken tears and apologies for everything from leaving to go to LA to breaking the bet by sleeping with Alex (a crime you didn’t tell her you had already known about as she sobbingly told you she needed to tell you something and then confessed everything) to aborting your baby back in New York (an apology that was accompanied by a still stinging surge of pain through your gut).
Through her tears, she told you that you were all she thought about and that she missed you and that she wanted to try again, but even as you held her to your chest and stroked her hair, planting kisses on her temple and promising her that everything was going to be okay, you refused to let yourself believe her. And for the first time since you took her to bed that fateful night in New York, you just sat there with her and didn’t try to kiss her or have sex with her. And you wondered if it meant something.
Because this morning, as you watch her sleep in your bed, dressed in one of your old dress shirts and sweats, with her new short red hair somehow still managing to be fanned out around her head, you know there is something more to this story than she is telling you.
“You don’t love me, Addison,” is the first thing you say to her when she stirs and blinks up at you. You’re lying next to her, your hand on her waist as she lies on her side facing you.
She stares sleepily up at you when she sees you, then she groans, pressing her palm to her temple.
“Too bright,” she whines, and tries to bury her head into your shoulder.
“We need to talk about this,” you say gently as she groans again. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”
You don’t say another word as you get her the aspirin and a glass of water. She moans some more and wriggles around, trying to get comfortable and fall back asleep. You think maybe she has, when she finally speaks, her eyes still closed.
“I meant what I said last night, Mark.”
“You remember what you said?”
“Yes,” she snaps, as her eyes fly open. “I didn’t drink that much.”
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“Are you going to lecture me about drinking?”
“I don’t care how much you drank, Addison. I care about what you said.”
“I meant it.”
“How do I know that?”
She frowns at that, and her eyes flash, and you think she’s about to blow. But instead she just sighs sadly. “Spend Christmas with me and let me prove it to you.”
---
“I bought props.”
You’re trying to get work done. Okay, you’re trying to pretend to work while you stare at the scrub nurses you’re pretty sure must have just been hired since you have never seen them before, but still.
You turn to Callie, and she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“You bought props?”
“I thought we might want to re-enact Christmas tonight.”
You frown. “You do know that Jesus came about by immaculate conception, don’t you?” You’re usually up for anything but you’re not sure how a trip to Bethlehem can be all that fun.
She sees the expression on your face and breaks into laughter. “Not that Christmas! Santa and Mrs. Claus. I found hats. And toys. Lots of toys. Naughty toys.”
You feel your face light up at the thought, and she leans forward and kisses you, right there, in front of everyone. And you know that everyone includes Derek and Meredith, who you can see out of the corner of your eye. But all you can do is stare at her and secretly start counting the minutes till your shift ends.
---
You’re going to spend Christmas with Addison. It’s the least you can do, right? After all, she did fly out here, to Seattle, for you. And she asked Joe to call you. And she told you she loved you. That has to mean something, right?
You ignore the message your gut is trying to send you as you wait for her to return. Apparently she’d had such an epiphany about wanting you that she had jumped on a plane without stopping to even bother with packing. And now she needs clothes that don’t smell like puke.
She thinks you need a Christmas tree. And presents. You shove your hands in your pockets as you pace the length of the room again. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?
The phone rings before you can contemplate that, and to distract yourself, you answer it without even checking to see who’s calling.
---
Callie was right. Re-enacting Christmas at the North Pole really can be good fun.
You’re lying next to each other, your limbs still tangled, the Santa hat still somehow managing to stay attached to her head. She smiles at you.
“We should do that again,” she says.
You completely agree. “We should,” and you lean over her to go again.
Her hand meets your chest before your lips can touch hers. “Not now.”
You try for her lips again but this time she stops you with both hands.
“Callie …” You hear your voice come out almost in a whine. If you weren’t so horny, you’d almost be embarrassed.
“Spend Christmas with me.”
“Spend Christmas with you?”
She shrugs. “Do you have other plans? Are you going to cook a turkey and sit down with Derek and Meredith to share it?”
You slump back on to the bed next to her. “What kind of Christmas are you talking about here?”
She laughs. “One that involves drinking. And sex. Definitely sex.” She smiles when she sees you nod in approval. “And maybe presents.”
“Well,” you say, “presents are good. It is Christmas after all.”
You joke around some more and then spend the next few hours playing Santa again, but in the back of your mind you realize you haven’t been this excited for Christmas since you can remember.
It's then that the phone rings.
---
“Your boyfriend broke up with you.”
Your words assault her as soon as she steps through the door, her arms laden with packages. She blinks at you as they tumble from her hands, and you notice she visibly pales.
“What?” she whispers.
“Your friend Naomi called. She wondered if I had heard from you. She said they were worried about you, since you weren’t answering your phone. She said she thought you were taking it kind of hard.”
Addison manages to regain her composure. She stands straighter and focuses directly on you. “I’m fine,” she says.
“Are you?” Your voice is cold. You can’t help it. You knew there was something more going on here.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s good. It wasn’t serious. In fact, it made me realize how much I love you.”
“You don’t love me.”
She glowers. “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Why are you arguing with me about this?”
“You need to leave.”
This stops her. “What?”
“I’m not doing this again, Addison. Not now. Not ever. You don’t love me. You don’t want me. And I’m not going to be your rebound. I’m not going to be your fuck buddy. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Mark - ”
“No. Just go. I don’t want you here, Addison. I don’t love you. I never did. I want you gone. Now.”
You step around her and slam the door behind you when you leave. You know what you said was cruel, and not entirely true, but you’re angry. You should have known better.
---
“I have to go,” you say for the fifth time in what seems like the same number of minutes. “Joe said she was asking for me.”
“Of course she is.” Callie doesn’t sound angry, just resigned, but she’s putting her clothes on and trying to avoid looking at you. You’re not sure why it bothers you, but it does.
“Cal … I …”
She looks at you and you think for a second you see a glimmer of tears, but then it’s gone.
“Be careful, Mark,” she tells you.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You seem upset.”
She pulls her shirt over her head and stares at you. “You always go back you to her. It’s always about her.”
“No, it’s not.” Your defensive instincts take over. “But why does it matter?”
“I thought we were spending Christmas together.”
You try to smirk at her. “Maybe all three of us can spend Christmas together.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” And she’s brushing by you and is out the door before you even have a chance to respond.
---
You return four hours later, after slamming down a few drinks at Joe’s and venting with Derek about the evil redhead he dragged into both of your lives once upon a time, to find her still there, sitting on the edge of your bed with tears dripping down her cheeks.
You soften when you see her, and you take her hand in yours when you perch on the edge next to her. But you don’t apologize.
“You’re right,” she whispers. “He dumped me. I … really like him and he … he dumped me.” She tries to smile at you through her tears but it comes out looking more like a grimace. “I’m sorry. … I just wanted ….I just wanted someone …”
She stops before trying again, and this time her voice breaks. “I messed up. I just keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. … I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree softly.
She stands up, but she keeps her head lowered and her eyes on the ground. “I’ll go.”
You help her gather up the few things she has, and she still won’t look at you. Just before she opens the door, you stop her, your hand on her arm.
“Addison,” you say gently. “Look at me.” You try a second time, but she still won’t cooperate, so you reach out and grab her chin and turn her head till she reluctantly lifts her eyes to yours. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have come. But you could have called. You’ll always be my friend. That’s never going to change.”
She throws herself into your arms then and cries on your shoulder. You end up driving her to the airport yourself, giving her as much advice as you can on the way, and for a minute, it’s like you’re back in New York and everything between you is fine.
You give her one last hug when you drop her off at the terminal. “There’s someone out there who deserves you, Addison,” you whisper in her ear as you press her to you. “You’ll see.”
You squeeze her hand as you let her go and tell her, “Merry Christmas, Addie.” She smiles that blinding smile and you know she’s going to be okay. You both are.
---
You go straight to her apartment, praying Cristina is not around. You sigh in relief when you spot only her car in the driveway and you sigh in relief again when she opens the door.
She looks at you curiously and tries to peer around you.
“Where’s Addison?”
“I sent her home.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because …” You take a deep breath, then plunge in. “You should spend Christmas with the people you love. So here I am.”
She doesn’t say a word, but the kiss she gives you is by far the best Christmas present you have ever received.