Sweet Valium High
A/N: Sorry this has taken me so, so long. School got pretty intense, and then there have been some other things, but I'm back, and I really like this chapter and where I've decided to take this. I hope everyone that reads this enjoys it. - M.
Sweet Valium High
It is early morning when they leave Santa Monica, two-week long leave of absences taken and patients referred to other doctors. Her bags overpower his in the back of her car but he sort of expected it, considering that he's pretty sure she's never worn the same thing twice. He's surprised when she comes down the stairs in denim shorts and a gray sweatshirt, hair in disheveled curls around her face. She fills a to-go cup for him and hands him the keys; he'll be driving the first shift. They leave her driveway with a goodbye wave to Sam and her horrible music turned up so loud he's sure it woke the neighbors.
She doesn't let him touch the radio until they're nearly at Bakersfield, cursing at him when he immediately puts in The Clash. Her face tells him she'd shatter the CD if she could, so he opts for The Beatles instead, laughing softly when she starts to sing along, badly. They don't talk about anything of importance, but the way her voice cracks during “Blackbird” tells him more than she probably could.
She convinces him to stop in Avenal and they eat breakfast in a diner he assumes she wouldn't step foot in under normal circumstances. He wouldn't eat the food there either though, so he's surprised at himself when he orders a stack of pancakes the size of California and finishes them off. Her laughter echoes in the restaurant when his face contorts with pain at the amount of food in his stomach, and he sticks his tongue out, liking that their trip has immediately begun to remind him of the road trips he used to take in college.
She offers to drive but he says no, telling her to kick off her shoes and relax. She does just that, one long leg resting out the window and on the side view mirror and the other stretched out in front of her, red toenails tapping the dashboard in time with the music. He turns down the music around San Jose, just after they've run through an In-N-Out Burger and are back on the interstate.
“You surprise me.” He says, laughing when she catches a loose pickle with her ring finger and pops it in her mouth in one swift movement. “I never expected you for a road trip kind of girl.”
“I took Ainsley on a road trip for her sixteenth birthday,” She says, stealing one of his fries and using it to scoop up a glob of spread. “Ever since then I've loved them, but I never have time to go. The longest road trip I've been on in years is the one from Manhattan to Southampton.” Pete wrinkles his nose and she laughs. “I know, it's pathetic.”
“Not pathetic, just a different life.” He digs into his burger (Double Double Animal Style) and cocks an eyebrow when she makes a face. “What?”
“That looks disgusting.”
“It's delicious,” He says, shoving the burger across the open space and into her face. “Bite?”
“Gross.” She pushes his arm away and he chuckles, taking another large bite. “No thanks.”
“Your loss.” His mouth is full when he says it, and she makes a gagging noise and turns up the music, “Dear Prudence” blaring over the sound of his laughter.
§
“Have you called your sister?”
“Good Morning to you too,” Ainsley says, sliding in to the booth across from Derek. “Have you decided to go back to work yet?”
An exasperated breath comes out of his mouth and he rolls his eyes. “Annie...”
“I will call my sister when you get your ass back in the OR.”
“That's not fair,” He retorts, sliding the sugar across the table to her after the waiter finishes pouring her coffee. “Yours is easier.”
“It is not.”
“Is too,” He points his forefinger at her when she rolls her eyes. “Don't roll your eyes at me, Ainsley Montgomery. Calling your sister is not as hard as going back to work after killing a patient.”
“What do you know about calling my sister?” She snaps, shoving his finger out of her face. “It's not like you talk to her.”
“I don't have to talk to her,” He says, standing up and leading her to the brunch buffet line. “Ex, remember?”
“Yeah, because that is something I could forget.” She picks through the bowl of fruit with her fork, dropping only grapes and sliced strawberries on her plate. “Like I said, I'll call her when you go back to Seattle Grace.”
Derek says nothing, scooping fried potatoes and sausage on to his plate and avoiding her stare. “When do you start at Mercy?”
“A week from Monday,” She reaches across him, grabbing a scone as he tries to decide. “I'm nervous.”
“Why?”
“It's Head of Internal Medicine, Derek. Wouldn't you be nervous?”
“No.” He turns to look at her, a smug grin on his face. “I wasn't nervous when I became Head of Neurosurgery for the first time.”
“That's because you're a pompous asshole,” He cocks an eyebrow and she nods, as if reinforcing her statement, “and I'm not.”
“No. You're perfect.” She scowls at him and he laughs, heading back to their table while Ainsley picks through the jam in search of Blackberry, the only flavor she's ever eaten. When she returns to the table he's sipping on his coffee and pushing his food around on his plate.
“Everything alright?” She asks, grimacing when she takes a sip of her coffee and it's lukewarm.
“I just got a call from Mark.”
“Oh?”
He nods, looking over the coffee up at her. “Addison. She's on her way up here.”
Ainsley rests her head between her hands, letting out a long breath. “Awesome.”
§
Archer leaves his meeting later than planned, a half-eaten bagel hanging from his mouth as he heads for his car. He listens to his voicemails briefly, munching on the bagel as he deletes the three messages from women he slept with weeks ago that somehow got his phone number. He slides in to his BMW, tossing the rest of the bagel to the pigeons, and then turns the key in the ignition, jumping a little when his phone vibrates in the cup holder. Ainsley’s phone number blinks across the top of the text message, which is written in all caps.
ADDISON IS DRIVING UP HERE FROM LA, I START THE CLINICAL TRIAL ON WEDNESDAY AND WORK A WEEK FROM MONDAY AND IF I HAVE TO TRY AND DEAL WITH IT ALL MYSELF YOU WILL BE THE WORST BIG BROTHER EVER.
He stares at the text for a few minutes, trying to decide what to say to her. He finally responds with two words, all lowercase, and then tosses the phone in to the passenger seat before leaving the parking lot and speeding towards home.
i’m coming.
§
“Why is it exactly that you don’t want to talk to Addison?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is too my business,” Mark snaps, pulling the medical journal out of Ainsley’s hands to get her attention. It does. “You and Addison are my friends. She is on a road trip up here because you won’t answer or return her phone calls, and she wants to talk to you. You are considering leaving town as soon as she gets here so that you don’t have to see her.” He points the rolled up magazine at her, his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Tell me what is going on.”
She turns away from him, leaning against the window and staring out at the Puget Sound. “I’m sick.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia. It’s why I came to Seattle. The University of Washington is doing a clinical trial that I’m going to be a part of.”
“Ainsley, at your age - chronic lymphocytic probably runs in the family.”
“Yes Mark, I know.”
“You have to tell Addison and Archer. The chances of them having it…”
“Are very slim. It runs on my father’s side.”
Mark contorts his face in confusion. “Right. So if Jack’s family…”
“Not Jack,” Ainsley interrupts him and turns around, running her fingers through her hair. She takes a deep breath. “Jack Montgomery isn’t my biological father.”
“What?” Mark shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, Ainsley.”
“It’s not.” Her arms tuck around her stomach and she leans against the window. “I needed blood. I called Archer because, well, because I’d already told him. He’s type AB Blood so I couldn’t take his blood because I’m type O. The hospital ran the records of the rest of the family. Addie is Type A, Bizzy is Type B, and Jack is AB.”
Mark looked down at his feet. “Wait, that means…”
“It means I’m not Jack’s, Mark. It’s not possible for a Type O baby to have a Type AB Father.”
“Yeah…” Mark sits down on the bed. “Do you know…?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” Ainsley pinches the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. Mark sees Addison standing in front of him. “Please, just don’t say anything. I was going to tell her, but once Bizzy told me who it was and the doctors determined that it ran on his side…there’s no reason to tell Addison. She doesn’t need to know.”
“Archer knows.”
“If I had known it wouldn’t affect either of them, I wouldn’t have told him either.” She sits down on the bed next to him, the soft comforter threatening to swallow her whole. “Mark, the farther away Addison is, the easier it is to keep it a secret. I can’t…don’t say anything.”
“Does Derek know?”
“No.” She looks down, the short strands falling in her face. “I can’t tell Derek. Not until I know more about what is going to happen to me.”
“Why not?”
She stays silent for a few minutes, and when she finally looks up at him he can see the tears in her eyes and he knows the answer before she even opens her mouth. “Could you tell the person you love that you’re dying?”
§
Pete pulls up in to the parking lot of the Columbia Hotel in Ashland, Oregon, and shakes Addison awake. “Addison, hey,” He smiles softly at her when one creaks open. “We’re here.”
“Where?”
“Ashland.” She doesn’t move and he laughs softly, shaking her again. “We’re staying the night here, you need to get out of the car.”
“No.” He shoves her towards the door and she shrieks. “Peter!”
“I’m going in.” He says, laughing when she groans and slips her feet in to her shoes before getting out of the car and following him in. She’s unsteady on her feet when she’s just woken up, and she reaches for him, their fingers tangling together as they reach the front desk. “Reservation for Pete Wilder.” He says, smiling at the clerk when Addison rests her head on his shoulder. “She just woke up.”
The young woman smiles and hands him the key to their room. “Enjoy your night, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder.”
“Thank you.” He decides to get their bags in a minute, instead leading Addison up to the room. When they step inside Addison stops, staring at the one Queen bed in the room. “What?”
“One bed.”
“Private bathroom.”
She stares at him. “What?”
“Some of the rooms here have shared bathrooms with other rooms. It was either two beds and a shared bathroom, or one bed and…”
She holds up her hand, stopping him. “I got it. Thank you for making the right decision.”
He laughs. “You’re welcome.” She sits down on the bed, kicking off her heels. “I’m going to go get the bags.”
“Just the blue one.”
“That’s all you need?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s the only one I need for tonight.”
“Okay.” He leaves her in the room, nodding at the clerk as he passes her in the lobby. When he reaches the trunk, he realizes that the blue bag is the largest one of all of them and he laughs, hoisting it out of the trunk and grabbing his duffel before locking the car and making the trek back up to the room. It is much harder with bags hanging on his arms instead of just a pretty girl, and when he gets to the room he accidentally bangs it open.
“Loud much?”
“You’re the one that packed the biggest bag ever.” He snaps, letting it slide across the room on its wheels. It miraculously lands at her feet.
“Nice.”
“I do what I can.” She laughs and pushes the bag against the wall, opening it and digging through it for lounge pants and a top. She pushes past him in to the bathroom and turns on the shower, which he should have figured she would do.
It’s forty-five minutes before she’s done, and he’s already gone down to the lobby to use their restroom and crawled in to bed when she finally emerges. “You don’t need the bathroom?”
“I used the one in the lobby,” He says, his voice muffled by the pillow his face is pressed in to.
“Oh,” She sighs. “Sorry, Pete, I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s okay, Addison.” He feels the weight shift on the other end of the bed and the bedside table lamp turns off. His whole body seems to relax when that happens. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She is silent for a few minutes, but her tossing and turning tells him that she’s finding it hard to sleep. “Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” She says softly. He turns over to face her, and a gentle smile plays on her face. “It means a lot.”
“Sure, Addison.” He watches her shift a little to try and find a comfortable spot, and then reaches for her, letting her rest her head against his chest. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”
“Yeah,” he can feel her smile against his chest. “I do know that.”
§
It's nearly midnight when Archer finally rolls in to Seattle, his rental car better than the car he drives and Ainsley's hotel one of the best he's seen in the city. His baby sister did always know how to treat him right. He stops at the front desk, where Ainsley left a key for him, and heads to the elevator and up to his sisters room.
“Annie?” He pokes his head in the door, his eyes flooded with light. “Are you here?” There is no response, so Archer pushes the door open further, stepping inside the large room. The place is disheveled, the comforter on the one bed in the room tossed askew, as if something needed to happen in a hurry. “Anne?”
He hears her retch, noticing the light from the bathroom for the first time. He sets his bag down and shuts the door before heading in to the bathroom. He finds his sister, dressed in only a flannel shirt and underwear, short locks pinned back with bobby pins, curled up on the floor, practically clutching the toilet bowl.
“Oh, Annie...”
“I'm alright,” She chokes out, brushing her short bangs out of her face. He's still not used to the short hair yet, but the chemotherapy had made her lose everything. “It's just the medicine I'm taking.”
He nods and rests his hand on her back, rubbing small circles. She retches again and vomits, and Archer closes his eyes, continuing the circles. She lets out a soft whimper and asks for water, so he gets it for her, kicking off his shoes after he hands it to her. “I thought the clinical trial started on Wednesday.”
“It does,” she says, pausing to see if she's able to keep the water down. When she does, she relaxes a little, leaning against the bathtub. “They told me not to stop taking the chemotherapy medication until it started, so that's what this is.”
“Is it like this every night?” She nods and he shakes his head. “You should have told me.”
“I'm a big girl, Archer. I can handle myself.”
“I know, Ainsley, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.” He flushes the toilet and takes the empty glass from her. “Can you stand?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I can.” Her hands grip the side of the tub and she forces herself to her feet. Her eyes immediately close and her head spins. “Arch...”
“I've got you,” He whispers, scooping her in to his arms and carrying her back to the bed. He settles her under the covers and sets a trash can next to the bed, turning off most of the lights and pulling the comforter up underneath her chin. “Try and sleep, okay?” It's all she can do to nod, and he sits on the edge of the bed next to her until he knows she's asleep.
She wakes up to throw up twice while he's unpacking, and he's at her side each time. It's the first time he's seen her sick like this; she wouldn't let him see her unless she was feeling well back in New York, and now he understands what it was like for Addison to sit at his bedside when he was sick.
It's painful to watch someone you love die.
Sweet Valium High
It is early morning when they leave Santa Monica, two-week long leave of absences taken and patients referred to other doctors. Her bags overpower his in the back of her car but he sort of expected it, considering that he's pretty sure she's never worn the same thing twice. He's surprised when she comes down the stairs in denim shorts and a gray sweatshirt, hair in disheveled curls around her face. She fills a to-go cup for him and hands him the keys; he'll be driving the first shift. They leave her driveway with a goodbye wave to Sam and her horrible music turned up so loud he's sure it woke the neighbors.
She doesn't let him touch the radio until they're nearly at Bakersfield, cursing at him when he immediately puts in The Clash. Her face tells him she'd shatter the CD if she could, so he opts for The Beatles instead, laughing softly when she starts to sing along, badly. They don't talk about anything of importance, but the way her voice cracks during “Blackbird” tells him more than she probably could.
She convinces him to stop in Avenal and they eat breakfast in a diner he assumes she wouldn't step foot in under normal circumstances. He wouldn't eat the food there either though, so he's surprised at himself when he orders a stack of pancakes the size of California and finishes them off. Her laughter echoes in the restaurant when his face contorts with pain at the amount of food in his stomach, and he sticks his tongue out, liking that their trip has immediately begun to remind him of the road trips he used to take in college.
She offers to drive but he says no, telling her to kick off her shoes and relax. She does just that, one long leg resting out the window and on the side view mirror and the other stretched out in front of her, red toenails tapping the dashboard in time with the music. He turns down the music around San Jose, just after they've run through an In-N-Out Burger and are back on the interstate.
“You surprise me.” He says, laughing when she catches a loose pickle with her ring finger and pops it in her mouth in one swift movement. “I never expected you for a road trip kind of girl.”
“I took Ainsley on a road trip for her sixteenth birthday,” She says, stealing one of his fries and using it to scoop up a glob of spread. “Ever since then I've loved them, but I never have time to go. The longest road trip I've been on in years is the one from Manhattan to Southampton.” Pete wrinkles his nose and she laughs. “I know, it's pathetic.”
“Not pathetic, just a different life.” He digs into his burger (Double Double Animal Style) and cocks an eyebrow when she makes a face. “What?”
“That looks disgusting.”
“It's delicious,” He says, shoving the burger across the open space and into her face. “Bite?”
“Gross.” She pushes his arm away and he chuckles, taking another large bite. “No thanks.”
“Your loss.” His mouth is full when he says it, and she makes a gagging noise and turns up the music, “Dear Prudence” blaring over the sound of his laughter.
§
“Have you called your sister?”
“Good Morning to you too,” Ainsley says, sliding in to the booth across from Derek. “Have you decided to go back to work yet?”
An exasperated breath comes out of his mouth and he rolls his eyes. “Annie...”
“I will call my sister when you get your ass back in the OR.”
“That's not fair,” He retorts, sliding the sugar across the table to her after the waiter finishes pouring her coffee. “Yours is easier.”
“It is not.”
“Is too,” He points his forefinger at her when she rolls her eyes. “Don't roll your eyes at me, Ainsley Montgomery. Calling your sister is not as hard as going back to work after killing a patient.”
“What do you know about calling my sister?” She snaps, shoving his finger out of her face. “It's not like you talk to her.”
“I don't have to talk to her,” He says, standing up and leading her to the brunch buffet line. “Ex, remember?”
“Yeah, because that is something I could forget.” She picks through the bowl of fruit with her fork, dropping only grapes and sliced strawberries on her plate. “Like I said, I'll call her when you go back to Seattle Grace.”
Derek says nothing, scooping fried potatoes and sausage on to his plate and avoiding her stare. “When do you start at Mercy?”
“A week from Monday,” She reaches across him, grabbing a scone as he tries to decide. “I'm nervous.”
“Why?”
“It's Head of Internal Medicine, Derek. Wouldn't you be nervous?”
“No.” He turns to look at her, a smug grin on his face. “I wasn't nervous when I became Head of Neurosurgery for the first time.”
“That's because you're a pompous asshole,” He cocks an eyebrow and she nods, as if reinforcing her statement, “and I'm not.”
“No. You're perfect.” She scowls at him and he laughs, heading back to their table while Ainsley picks through the jam in search of Blackberry, the only flavor she's ever eaten. When she returns to the table he's sipping on his coffee and pushing his food around on his plate.
“Everything alright?” She asks, grimacing when she takes a sip of her coffee and it's lukewarm.
“I just got a call from Mark.”
“Oh?”
He nods, looking over the coffee up at her. “Addison. She's on her way up here.”
Ainsley rests her head between her hands, letting out a long breath. “Awesome.”
§
Archer leaves his meeting later than planned, a half-eaten bagel hanging from his mouth as he heads for his car. He listens to his voicemails briefly, munching on the bagel as he deletes the three messages from women he slept with weeks ago that somehow got his phone number. He slides in to his BMW, tossing the rest of the bagel to the pigeons, and then turns the key in the ignition, jumping a little when his phone vibrates in the cup holder. Ainsley’s phone number blinks across the top of the text message, which is written in all caps.
ADDISON IS DRIVING UP HERE FROM LA, I START THE CLINICAL TRIAL ON WEDNESDAY AND WORK A WEEK FROM MONDAY AND IF I HAVE TO TRY AND DEAL WITH IT ALL MYSELF YOU WILL BE THE WORST BIG BROTHER EVER.
He stares at the text for a few minutes, trying to decide what to say to her. He finally responds with two words, all lowercase, and then tosses the phone in to the passenger seat before leaving the parking lot and speeding towards home.
i’m coming.
§
“Why is it exactly that you don’t want to talk to Addison?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is too my business,” Mark snaps, pulling the medical journal out of Ainsley’s hands to get her attention. It does. “You and Addison are my friends. She is on a road trip up here because you won’t answer or return her phone calls, and she wants to talk to you. You are considering leaving town as soon as she gets here so that you don’t have to see her.” He points the rolled up magazine at her, his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Tell me what is going on.”
She turns away from him, leaning against the window and staring out at the Puget Sound. “I’m sick.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia. It’s why I came to Seattle. The University of Washington is doing a clinical trial that I’m going to be a part of.”
“Ainsley, at your age - chronic lymphocytic probably runs in the family.”
“Yes Mark, I know.”
“You have to tell Addison and Archer. The chances of them having it…”
“Are very slim. It runs on my father’s side.”
Mark contorts his face in confusion. “Right. So if Jack’s family…”
“Not Jack,” Ainsley interrupts him and turns around, running her fingers through her hair. She takes a deep breath. “Jack Montgomery isn’t my biological father.”
“What?” Mark shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, Ainsley.”
“It’s not.” Her arms tuck around her stomach and she leans against the window. “I needed blood. I called Archer because, well, because I’d already told him. He’s type AB Blood so I couldn’t take his blood because I’m type O. The hospital ran the records of the rest of the family. Addie is Type A, Bizzy is Type B, and Jack is AB.”
Mark looked down at his feet. “Wait, that means…”
“It means I’m not Jack’s, Mark. It’s not possible for a Type O baby to have a Type AB Father.”
“Yeah…” Mark sits down on the bed. “Do you know…?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” Ainsley pinches the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. Mark sees Addison standing in front of him. “Please, just don’t say anything. I was going to tell her, but once Bizzy told me who it was and the doctors determined that it ran on his side…there’s no reason to tell Addison. She doesn’t need to know.”
“Archer knows.”
“If I had known it wouldn’t affect either of them, I wouldn’t have told him either.” She sits down on the bed next to him, the soft comforter threatening to swallow her whole. “Mark, the farther away Addison is, the easier it is to keep it a secret. I can’t…don’t say anything.”
“Does Derek know?”
“No.” She looks down, the short strands falling in her face. “I can’t tell Derek. Not until I know more about what is going to happen to me.”
“Why not?”
She stays silent for a few minutes, and when she finally looks up at him he can see the tears in her eyes and he knows the answer before she even opens her mouth. “Could you tell the person you love that you’re dying?”
§
Pete pulls up in to the parking lot of the Columbia Hotel in Ashland, Oregon, and shakes Addison awake. “Addison, hey,” He smiles softly at her when one creaks open. “We’re here.”
“Where?”
“Ashland.” She doesn’t move and he laughs softly, shaking her again. “We’re staying the night here, you need to get out of the car.”
“No.” He shoves her towards the door and she shrieks. “Peter!”
“I’m going in.” He says, laughing when she groans and slips her feet in to her shoes before getting out of the car and following him in. She’s unsteady on her feet when she’s just woken up, and she reaches for him, their fingers tangling together as they reach the front desk. “Reservation for Pete Wilder.” He says, smiling at the clerk when Addison rests her head on his shoulder. “She just woke up.”
The young woman smiles and hands him the key to their room. “Enjoy your night, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder.”
“Thank you.” He decides to get their bags in a minute, instead leading Addison up to the room. When they step inside Addison stops, staring at the one Queen bed in the room. “What?”
“One bed.”
“Private bathroom.”
She stares at him. “What?”
“Some of the rooms here have shared bathrooms with other rooms. It was either two beds and a shared bathroom, or one bed and…”
She holds up her hand, stopping him. “I got it. Thank you for making the right decision.”
He laughs. “You’re welcome.” She sits down on the bed, kicking off her heels. “I’m going to go get the bags.”
“Just the blue one.”
“That’s all you need?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s the only one I need for tonight.”
“Okay.” He leaves her in the room, nodding at the clerk as he passes her in the lobby. When he reaches the trunk, he realizes that the blue bag is the largest one of all of them and he laughs, hoisting it out of the trunk and grabbing his duffel before locking the car and making the trek back up to the room. It is much harder with bags hanging on his arms instead of just a pretty girl, and when he gets to the room he accidentally bangs it open.
“Loud much?”
“You’re the one that packed the biggest bag ever.” He snaps, letting it slide across the room on its wheels. It miraculously lands at her feet.
“Nice.”
“I do what I can.” She laughs and pushes the bag against the wall, opening it and digging through it for lounge pants and a top. She pushes past him in to the bathroom and turns on the shower, which he should have figured she would do.
It’s forty-five minutes before she’s done, and he’s already gone down to the lobby to use their restroom and crawled in to bed when she finally emerges. “You don’t need the bathroom?”
“I used the one in the lobby,” He says, his voice muffled by the pillow his face is pressed in to.
“Oh,” She sighs. “Sorry, Pete, I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s okay, Addison.” He feels the weight shift on the other end of the bed and the bedside table lamp turns off. His whole body seems to relax when that happens. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She is silent for a few minutes, but her tossing and turning tells him that she’s finding it hard to sleep. “Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” She says softly. He turns over to face her, and a gentle smile plays on her face. “It means a lot.”
“Sure, Addison.” He watches her shift a little to try and find a comfortable spot, and then reaches for her, letting her rest her head against his chest. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”
“Yeah,” he can feel her smile against his chest. “I do know that.”
§
It's nearly midnight when Archer finally rolls in to Seattle, his rental car better than the car he drives and Ainsley's hotel one of the best he's seen in the city. His baby sister did always know how to treat him right. He stops at the front desk, where Ainsley left a key for him, and heads to the elevator and up to his sisters room.
“Annie?” He pokes his head in the door, his eyes flooded with light. “Are you here?” There is no response, so Archer pushes the door open further, stepping inside the large room. The place is disheveled, the comforter on the one bed in the room tossed askew, as if something needed to happen in a hurry. “Anne?”
He hears her retch, noticing the light from the bathroom for the first time. He sets his bag down and shuts the door before heading in to the bathroom. He finds his sister, dressed in only a flannel shirt and underwear, short locks pinned back with bobby pins, curled up on the floor, practically clutching the toilet bowl.
“Oh, Annie...”
“I'm alright,” She chokes out, brushing her short bangs out of her face. He's still not used to the short hair yet, but the chemotherapy had made her lose everything. “It's just the medicine I'm taking.”
He nods and rests his hand on her back, rubbing small circles. She retches again and vomits, and Archer closes his eyes, continuing the circles. She lets out a soft whimper and asks for water, so he gets it for her, kicking off his shoes after he hands it to her. “I thought the clinical trial started on Wednesday.”
“It does,” she says, pausing to see if she's able to keep the water down. When she does, she relaxes a little, leaning against the bathtub. “They told me not to stop taking the chemotherapy medication until it started, so that's what this is.”
“Is it like this every night?” She nods and he shakes his head. “You should have told me.”
“I'm a big girl, Archer. I can handle myself.”
“I know, Ainsley, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.” He flushes the toilet and takes the empty glass from her. “Can you stand?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I can.” Her hands grip the side of the tub and she forces herself to her feet. Her eyes immediately close and her head spins. “Arch...”
“I've got you,” He whispers, scooping her in to his arms and carrying her back to the bed. He settles her under the covers and sets a trash can next to the bed, turning off most of the lights and pulling the comforter up underneath her chin. “Try and sleep, okay?” It's all she can do to nod, and he sits on the edge of the bed next to her until he knows she's asleep.
She wakes up to throw up twice while he's unpacking, and he's at her side each time. It's the first time he's seen her sick like this; she wouldn't let him see her unless she was feeling well back in New York, and now he understands what it was like for Addison to sit at his bedside when he was sick.
It's painful to watch someone you love die.