"Faiy Tales" by lilianvaldemyer [G]
Title: Fairy Tales
Author: lilianvaldemyer
Recipient: milk-and-glass - hope you like it :)
Pairing(s):Izzie/Addison
Rating: G. Painfully so.
Summary: Addison has never believed in fairy tales. Even when she's living one.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is not mine; I am making no profit.
A note of thanks to my wonderful beta, daisakura. Any mistakes are mine not hers. This will also eventually be archived at my fic journal, mylucidskin.
Fairy Tales
Addison doesn't believe in fairy tales. She never has. Her father read her stories when she was young, about princes who carried off princesses into Happily Ever After; they were charming and dashing, with flowing cloaks and long black hair (stylishly rugged). Her prince, when he came, was charming with long black hair (perpetually falling into his eyes), but the only dashing he did was across New York streets, and the carrying took them to Estranged Ever After. Her prince dashed off, with dramatic sweeps of his hair, into his own Happily Ever After with… a twelve year old. Well, a twenty-something who looked twelve.
Her prince, (ex-prince, she supposes she should start thinking) now regally carried around a very small squalling thing, who would naturally grow up to be a princess. True to princely fashion, a christening had been organised, but the wicked queen had been invited this time. Black letters glared defiantly at her from pale pink parchment, welcoming her with unwelcome intensity into Helena’s life.
Addison had bought a gift; the same book her father had read to her from when she was a child, and the reason she now had a head full of make-believe princes. Before resigning it to its colourful nest of paper and glittery ribbons, she picks it up again, leafing randomly through pages both familiar and foreign. Her own copy is long gone; possibly it fell apart from the frequent readings of her childhood. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales long before she’d stopped turning the watercolour pages. She still remembers the colours, although this copy seems brighter and lighter. A by-product of adulthood, perhaps - it is easier to dream in gauze and pastel when you’re a child. It’s easier to believe that a book can contain the whole world and everything beyond.
Closing the book, she traces her fingers across the cover, blue, and soft like leather. The most unbelievable of all the fairy tales is depicted on it, the one with the mermaid who grows legs. Mermaids aren't real, Addison knows, just as she knew when she was six. This one is especially unreal, with long blonde curls that no woman could ever hope to possess, and peach-pink skin and a tail of green scales. You can't see her eyes properly, but Addison knows that if you could, they wouldn't be the sea-blue everyone automatically assigns to mermaids. They'd be golden-brown and rich like butterscotch caramels.
Addison doesn't believe in fairy tales. And she doesn't believe in mermaids either, but there's one upstairs in her shower.
* * *
Addison hates Halloween. She hates the commercialism and the children who interrupt carefully planned dinner parties begging for candy - which only happened once, and she doesn't know how she managed to be oblivious to the date. She supposes it’s her own fault, but she hates it all the same. She hates that Halloween exists to remind her of the fairy tales she doesn't believe in.
She's pretty sure she only agreed to this for the sake of Izzie's pumpkin pies. They did, in all fairness, have to do something with the pumpkins she'd insisted on buying and subsequently massacring. Izzie believes in traditions and celebrating holidays, regardless of the kitsch factor. Addison’s all for celebration, but not when the holiday in question means having a particularly leery pumpkin head on your doorstep.
Addison’s been through four potential costumes already, and is adding the finishing touch to Idea Number Five when Izzie’s voice careens up the stairs. “Meredith and Derek are here!”
Raising an eyebrow to herself, she slips on her other shoe and heads down the stairs. Izzie’s nowhere to be seen, but Vlad Drakul has one wing of his cloak swept around a delicate raven-haired girl whom she assumes to be Meredith-in-a-wig. She barely gets out hello before Derek is sniggering, head cocked to one side.
“Good to see you’ve embraced your inner vileness, Miss DeVille,” he says. “Or may I call you Cruella?”
“Your wit, as always, leaves me speechless, Derek.” Rolling her eyes, she adds, “It’s not Cruella, it’s Maleficent. The black fairy from Sleeping Beauty?”
“I thought you didn’t do fairies? You’ve been watching too many of Helena’s dvds. Less babysitting for you, in future.”
Meredith has been watching with her usual silence, as if she’s still unsure (after three years, a child, and countless dinner parties?) how much banter she is allowed. “I don’t know, Derek. I think it kind of suits her.”
Addison’s reply is cut off by the whirling dervish that practically bounces into the room. “The pumpkin pies are done and the drinks are ready to come out and the - Good God! Addy, what happened to your costume? I thought we were going to match.”
“I didn’t feel like wearing a wolf snout all night?” is the only reply she offers. She can barely contain her laughter as a decidedly downcast Red Riding Hood runs up the stairs. She’ll reappear in ten minutes time with her hair up, clad in a tiara and pink evening gown.
Addison hates Halloween, but if Sleeping Beauty is going to celebrate it every year, she might as well get used to it.
* * *
Addison doesn’t believe in fairy tales, so she says. Izzie’s inclined to believe her, at least on one level. Growing up the way she would have, there’d be no need for them. Fairy tales belonged to the world of single mothers and trailers, of public high schools (skipping classes, more like) and clothes that were always too short, too long, too faded. Fairy tales belonged to the girls who never fitted in, or fitted in too well. Girls who needed to know there was something other than the everyday world, which was painfully neon-bright; it stung your eyes and covered you in grit (or dirty soapsuds, night after night) and left you sleep-deprived and aching. Addison’s world never used neon; the brightest thing in it was her hair, burnished flame in the appropriately filtered sunlight of a sitting room. Addison’s world was a fairy tale, believe in them or not.
Izzie, on the other hand, believes with all her heart. She always has, since her days of elementary school readers - life is dirt and mess and late nights working for your Wicked Stepsisters, until the Fairy Godmother comes along with a ball gown and magic shoes, and gives you the castle and the prince and the Happily Ever After.
So what if this time, the Fairy Godmother had spelled her spell wrong? Prince, princess, it was all the same in the end.
Addison might not believe in fairy tales, but Izzie is going to make sure she gets her Happily Ever After anyway.
Author: lilianvaldemyer
Recipient: milk-and-glass - hope you like it :)
Pairing(s):Izzie/Addison
Rating: G. Painfully so.
Summary: Addison has never believed in fairy tales. Even when she's living one.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is not mine; I am making no profit.
A note of thanks to my wonderful beta, daisakura. Any mistakes are mine not hers. This will also eventually be archived at my fic journal, mylucidskin.
Fairy Tales
Addison doesn't believe in fairy tales. She never has. Her father read her stories when she was young, about princes who carried off princesses into Happily Ever After; they were charming and dashing, with flowing cloaks and long black hair (stylishly rugged). Her prince, when he came, was charming with long black hair (perpetually falling into his eyes), but the only dashing he did was across New York streets, and the carrying took them to Estranged Ever After. Her prince dashed off, with dramatic sweeps of his hair, into his own Happily Ever After with… a twelve year old. Well, a twenty-something who looked twelve.
Her prince, (ex-prince, she supposes she should start thinking) now regally carried around a very small squalling thing, who would naturally grow up to be a princess. True to princely fashion, a christening had been organised, but the wicked queen had been invited this time. Black letters glared defiantly at her from pale pink parchment, welcoming her with unwelcome intensity into Helena’s life.
Addison had bought a gift; the same book her father had read to her from when she was a child, and the reason she now had a head full of make-believe princes. Before resigning it to its colourful nest of paper and glittery ribbons, she picks it up again, leafing randomly through pages both familiar and foreign. Her own copy is long gone; possibly it fell apart from the frequent readings of her childhood. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales long before she’d stopped turning the watercolour pages. She still remembers the colours, although this copy seems brighter and lighter. A by-product of adulthood, perhaps - it is easier to dream in gauze and pastel when you’re a child. It’s easier to believe that a book can contain the whole world and everything beyond.
Closing the book, she traces her fingers across the cover, blue, and soft like leather. The most unbelievable of all the fairy tales is depicted on it, the one with the mermaid who grows legs. Mermaids aren't real, Addison knows, just as she knew when she was six. This one is especially unreal, with long blonde curls that no woman could ever hope to possess, and peach-pink skin and a tail of green scales. You can't see her eyes properly, but Addison knows that if you could, they wouldn't be the sea-blue everyone automatically assigns to mermaids. They'd be golden-brown and rich like butterscotch caramels.
Addison doesn't believe in fairy tales. And she doesn't believe in mermaids either, but there's one upstairs in her shower.
* * *
Addison hates Halloween. She hates the commercialism and the children who interrupt carefully planned dinner parties begging for candy - which only happened once, and she doesn't know how she managed to be oblivious to the date. She supposes it’s her own fault, but she hates it all the same. She hates that Halloween exists to remind her of the fairy tales she doesn't believe in.
She's pretty sure she only agreed to this for the sake of Izzie's pumpkin pies. They did, in all fairness, have to do something with the pumpkins she'd insisted on buying and subsequently massacring. Izzie believes in traditions and celebrating holidays, regardless of the kitsch factor. Addison’s all for celebration, but not when the holiday in question means having a particularly leery pumpkin head on your doorstep.
Addison’s been through four potential costumes already, and is adding the finishing touch to Idea Number Five when Izzie’s voice careens up the stairs. “Meredith and Derek are here!”
Raising an eyebrow to herself, she slips on her other shoe and heads down the stairs. Izzie’s nowhere to be seen, but Vlad Drakul has one wing of his cloak swept around a delicate raven-haired girl whom she assumes to be Meredith-in-a-wig. She barely gets out hello before Derek is sniggering, head cocked to one side.
“Good to see you’ve embraced your inner vileness, Miss DeVille,” he says. “Or may I call you Cruella?”
“Your wit, as always, leaves me speechless, Derek.” Rolling her eyes, she adds, “It’s not Cruella, it’s Maleficent. The black fairy from Sleeping Beauty?”
“I thought you didn’t do fairies? You’ve been watching too many of Helena’s dvds. Less babysitting for you, in future.”
Meredith has been watching with her usual silence, as if she’s still unsure (after three years, a child, and countless dinner parties?) how much banter she is allowed. “I don’t know, Derek. I think it kind of suits her.”
Addison’s reply is cut off by the whirling dervish that practically bounces into the room. “The pumpkin pies are done and the drinks are ready to come out and the - Good God! Addy, what happened to your costume? I thought we were going to match.”
“I didn’t feel like wearing a wolf snout all night?” is the only reply she offers. She can barely contain her laughter as a decidedly downcast Red Riding Hood runs up the stairs. She’ll reappear in ten minutes time with her hair up, clad in a tiara and pink evening gown.
Addison hates Halloween, but if Sleeping Beauty is going to celebrate it every year, she might as well get used to it.
* * *
Addison doesn’t believe in fairy tales, so she says. Izzie’s inclined to believe her, at least on one level. Growing up the way she would have, there’d be no need for them. Fairy tales belonged to the world of single mothers and trailers, of public high schools (skipping classes, more like) and clothes that were always too short, too long, too faded. Fairy tales belonged to the girls who never fitted in, or fitted in too well. Girls who needed to know there was something other than the everyday world, which was painfully neon-bright; it stung your eyes and covered you in grit (or dirty soapsuds, night after night) and left you sleep-deprived and aching. Addison’s world never used neon; the brightest thing in it was her hair, burnished flame in the appropriately filtered sunlight of a sitting room. Addison’s world was a fairy tale, believe in them or not.
Izzie, on the other hand, believes with all her heart. She always has, since her days of elementary school readers - life is dirt and mess and late nights working for your Wicked Stepsisters, until the Fairy Godmother comes along with a ball gown and magic shoes, and gives you the castle and the prince and the Happily Ever After.
So what if this time, the Fairy Godmother had spelled her spell wrong? Prince, princess, it was all the same in the end.
Addison might not believe in fairy tales, but Izzie is going to make sure she gets her Happily Ever After anyway.