FIC: Love Wins Every Time 16/?
Hi everyone!
Sorry for the delay. This part will be short, but I want to get things going again. Previous parts can be found here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
In this chapter: Couch Time aftermath. Little Albert makes another visit.
Addison slumps back in her chair, watching Callie leave. "God. I think I'm depressed now."
"What, that?" He watches her carefully. "Nah."
"Just…somebody ought to have the happy ending, you know?"
"She'll get there."
"Not tonight."
"No," he admits. "Not tonight."
She's quiet for a moment. Then, she says "Did you mean that? Really?"
"What?"
"About the talking. Cause me? I do find it a little brutal."
"Yeah?"
"You don't?"
"I find it necessary," he says. "And necessary isn't always easy."
"No. No, it's not."
"It does get easier," he tells her. "I couldn't always…it gets easier."
She does not return his easy grin.
"Go on," he prods. "Try it. Tell me something."
"My hair colour has a little help sometimes."
"Tell me something difficult," he clarifies.
"I don't want to."
"Tough luck. Go on, tell me something."
She picks up a fried cheese stick, nibbles it, puts it back on the table, fiddles with her watchband. She looks everywhere but at him.
"I had a sex bet with Mark Sloan," she finally says.
"Ah."
"And I lost it. I had a bad day, and I was doubting my abilities, professional and otherwise, and I let a smooth talker say the right things to me, and I lost it. And I was just about to tell him about it when he told me he lost if first."
"Ah," he says again.
"Thing is, I still haven't told him, you know? And…I don't know. Part of me feels guilty. I mean, he broke my heart, Preston. When it went bad with him, back in New York, he broke my heart. Like, drinking binge, puke on the floor broke my heart. And maybe I deserved it…no, stop telling me I didn't…"
"Addison…"
"Or maybe it wasn't meant to be, or maybe…god, I don't know. But we could have had another try, and he blew it, or I blew it, I don't know. But I felt lonely, and I felt confused, and I let myself do something stupid, and I just…I guess I let that happen a little too often, and it's like…"
"It's like Pavlov's dogs," he says.
"Huh?"
"That story you told me. Little Albert. Pavlov's dogs. Every gong of the cymbal or ding of the bell only reinforces the link between what you feel and what you do."
"Yeah. And do you know how it ended?"
"How?"
"Watson created the fear, all right. He conditioned him good and proper. But then Little Albert got adopted, Preston. He got adopted, and Watson never got the chance to see if he could reverse it."
"Addison…"
"I used to wonder about it," she says. "Still do sometimes. Picturing a little boy out there, making his life with his new family, happy and growing and unaccountably afraid of small furry things…"
"But happy just the same," he prods, feeling suddenly a little desperate. "Growing just the same…"
"That would be nice, wouldn’t it?" she says, a bitter edge to her tone. "Thinking that in spite of it all, maybe he did get his happy ending…"
"But?" he presses.
"But…you've got to wonder how different the ending might have been, if Watson had the chance to change him back before he went off into his little footnote in the history of psychotherapy. If Watson had the chance to change him back, to prove that it's even possible to…"
Bingo. He takes her hand. "Is that what has you worried?"
"Wouldn’t it worry you? I have triggers. I know I do."
"We all have triggers."
"Yeah. And when mine go off? I panic, and I just…just cling, I guess, and it never ends well. There comes a point where I should learn, shouldn't I?"
"Addison." It seems so obvious to him. "The point isn't that you should learn not to act in these situations. The point is that you need to learn how to be in different situations."
She looks thoughtful at this, and he presses forward. "Look, it's not about sex. It's about science. Think back to Pavlov, and the dogs. Bell equals food, right? You ding the bell, you activate that script in their brains and their bodies respond accordingly."
"Okay…"
"Now, let's say we can arrange things so that the dog can't hear the bell anymore. Can we still initiate the response in him?"
"Not unless you condition something else to cause it, I suppose."
"So, if we don't want the dog to generate that behaviour, we have several options. We can stop ringing the bell. We can cover his ears so he can't hear it. We can cover the bell so it's too muffled to register…"
"Muffle the bell," she says thoughtfully. "Interesting."
"Try it," he says. "Chief race. Sloane is up next, and he's a smug little twit. He'll push buttons."
"Yeah," she says. "He probably will."
"So when he sets off your triggers? When he dings the bell? You plug your ears, and then you find someplace else to be so that you can't hear the echoes."
She puts down her drink. "Wow. So tired."
"I bet. You'll think about it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll think."
"And Addison?"
"Hmmm?"
"We'll talk tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. Yeah, okay."
She's getting spacey. He walks her to her room and sees that she's looked after, then tucks himself in for the night in his own room. He's also tired. Maybe he needs to do some leaning too.
Sorry for the delay. This part will be short, but I want to get things going again. Previous parts can be found here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
In this chapter: Couch Time aftermath. Little Albert makes another visit.
Addison slumps back in her chair, watching Callie leave. "God. I think I'm depressed now."
"What, that?" He watches her carefully. "Nah."
"Just…somebody ought to have the happy ending, you know?"
"She'll get there."
"Not tonight."
"No," he admits. "Not tonight."
She's quiet for a moment. Then, she says "Did you mean that? Really?"
"What?"
"About the talking. Cause me? I do find it a little brutal."
"Yeah?"
"You don't?"
"I find it necessary," he says. "And necessary isn't always easy."
"No. No, it's not."
"It does get easier," he tells her. "I couldn't always…it gets easier."
She does not return his easy grin.
"Go on," he prods. "Try it. Tell me something."
"My hair colour has a little help sometimes."
"Tell me something difficult," he clarifies.
"I don't want to."
"Tough luck. Go on, tell me something."
She picks up a fried cheese stick, nibbles it, puts it back on the table, fiddles with her watchband. She looks everywhere but at him.
"I had a sex bet with Mark Sloan," she finally says.
"Ah."
"And I lost it. I had a bad day, and I was doubting my abilities, professional and otherwise, and I let a smooth talker say the right things to me, and I lost it. And I was just about to tell him about it when he told me he lost if first."
"Ah," he says again.
"Thing is, I still haven't told him, you know? And…I don't know. Part of me feels guilty. I mean, he broke my heart, Preston. When it went bad with him, back in New York, he broke my heart. Like, drinking binge, puke on the floor broke my heart. And maybe I deserved it…no, stop telling me I didn't…"
"Addison…"
"Or maybe it wasn't meant to be, or maybe…god, I don't know. But we could have had another try, and he blew it, or I blew it, I don't know. But I felt lonely, and I felt confused, and I let myself do something stupid, and I just…I guess I let that happen a little too often, and it's like…"
"It's like Pavlov's dogs," he says.
"Huh?"
"That story you told me. Little Albert. Pavlov's dogs. Every gong of the cymbal or ding of the bell only reinforces the link between what you feel and what you do."
"Yeah. And do you know how it ended?"
"How?"
"Watson created the fear, all right. He conditioned him good and proper. But then Little Albert got adopted, Preston. He got adopted, and Watson never got the chance to see if he could reverse it."
"Addison…"
"I used to wonder about it," she says. "Still do sometimes. Picturing a little boy out there, making his life with his new family, happy and growing and unaccountably afraid of small furry things…"
"But happy just the same," he prods, feeling suddenly a little desperate. "Growing just the same…"
"That would be nice, wouldn’t it?" she says, a bitter edge to her tone. "Thinking that in spite of it all, maybe he did get his happy ending…"
"But?" he presses.
"But…you've got to wonder how different the ending might have been, if Watson had the chance to change him back before he went off into his little footnote in the history of psychotherapy. If Watson had the chance to change him back, to prove that it's even possible to…"
Bingo. He takes her hand. "Is that what has you worried?"
"Wouldn’t it worry you? I have triggers. I know I do."
"We all have triggers."
"Yeah. And when mine go off? I panic, and I just…just cling, I guess, and it never ends well. There comes a point where I should learn, shouldn't I?"
"Addison." It seems so obvious to him. "The point isn't that you should learn not to act in these situations. The point is that you need to learn how to be in different situations."
She looks thoughtful at this, and he presses forward. "Look, it's not about sex. It's about science. Think back to Pavlov, and the dogs. Bell equals food, right? You ding the bell, you activate that script in their brains and their bodies respond accordingly."
"Okay…"
"Now, let's say we can arrange things so that the dog can't hear the bell anymore. Can we still initiate the response in him?"
"Not unless you condition something else to cause it, I suppose."
"So, if we don't want the dog to generate that behaviour, we have several options. We can stop ringing the bell. We can cover his ears so he can't hear it. We can cover the bell so it's too muffled to register…"
"Muffle the bell," she says thoughtfully. "Interesting."
"Try it," he says. "Chief race. Sloane is up next, and he's a smug little twit. He'll push buttons."
"Yeah," she says. "He probably will."
"So when he sets off your triggers? When he dings the bell? You plug your ears, and then you find someplace else to be so that you can't hear the echoes."
She puts down her drink. "Wow. So tired."
"I bet. You'll think about it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll think."
"And Addison?"
"Hmmm?"
"We'll talk tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. Yeah, okay."
She's getting spacey. He walks her to her room and sees that she's looked after, then tucks himself in for the night in his own room. He's also tired. Maybe he needs to do some leaning too.