Exhaustion had coaxed her to sleep, but it was a short-lived reprieve. Within a few short hours, she was wide awake and staring at the ceiling, the echoes of their fight still ringing in her ears. The shattering glass against the counter top beside him. The way her heart jolted not once, but twice on the precipice of the staircase. The dark look in his eye as he held her so tightly by the arms. The ringing of metal bands hitting the floor and clattering down the pipes with bright, metallic pangs. The scream of complete and utter anguish that followed. Not to mention all of those little digs that just kept right on digging. Sheâd defended herself so poorly; so blind was her anger and so desperate her attempts to cover up the wreck sheâd made of her marriage. His false accusations still stung just as badly as when heâd said them, but more than thatâ-even more painfulâ-was the way heâd looked at her.
Like sheâd once looked at Derek.
It haunted her when she tried to close her eyes and go back to sleep, her tired mind mingling memories with the sound of Alexâs soft breathing beside her, and suddenly it became of utmost importance that she go let Buffy back into the house. The poor thing had been unceremoniously thrown from the house hours ago, and it had to be cold outside. Never mind that the dog often spent nights outside on their patio surveying the pool from the comfort of her plush dog bed. Slipping from between the sheets so as not to disturb him, she pulled a robe tightly around herself and disappeared into the hall. She knew he wouldnât stir. Sheâd done it enough times to know.
The chill of the night air rushed through the plush fabric of the robe, instantly awakening her senses to a new degree as she stared out into the darkness. In the distance, she could just make out the faint silhouette of trees against a spectacular, sparkling night sky. Her eyes traced the few constellations she could easily make out and she shivered, a cold breeze taking her back to a time and a place years since buried in her memory. Addison couldnât help but wonder if Alex still knew the night sky like he had on the beach all that time ago, somehow still remembering from a class even further back in time. A bittersweet smile traced itself across her lips for a moment at the thought. She longed for his warmth against her back; his eyes guiding hers through the twinkling expanse above in casual curiosity. In itâs place, she felt the course, chilled coat of Buffy bump against her leg. Looking down at the dog through the darkness, she was surprised to find her eyes welled with tears.
âIâm sorry,â she murmured as she gave her companion a sincere pat on the head, taking a seat on the nearest lounge chair and patting the spot beside her. The dog jumped up with a little less spring than sheâd had in her younger years, laying her head down patiently in Addisonâs lap as she massaged between her ears and down her chest. There was a long pause before her voice broke through the cricket-filled silence again. âIt wasnât your fault. Youâre a good dog.â Guilt coursed through her as she felt a stream of withering warmth trace down her cheeks and she sniffled. âHow did things get like that, hmm? I thought I was past this. I thought I could handle this. I thought I⊠well, I thought a lot of things.â Her hand came to rest, arm against Buffyâs back as the warmth finally began to transfer to her skin, and she blew out a breath to calm her tears. âIâm not myself, am I?â
The dog looked up, tilting her head with tall ears cocked in curiosity. Addison couldnât help but smile as a warm, wet tongue met her other hand. âCâmon. Letâs go inside. You must be freezing.â Of course, the redhead knew the dog was probably fine. She had a thick coat of fur and a nice kennel to retreat to when the temperatures dipped, and it never got so cold that sheâd be in any real danger. Addison, on the other hand, was beginning to lose sensation in her toes, and the dogâs presence was just enough to keep her from being self-destructive and staying out all night. With one last, fleeting look up at the night sky, she made her way back inside, absently sweeping the shards of glass from the fine hardwood floor, filling the dog bowl to the brim with food and leaning against the counter to listen to the rhythmic sound of jaws crushing kibble. Â
Everywhere her eyes landed, another memory sprang to life. The pool brought back barbecues and little Gabe with his water wings, proudly doggy paddling laps as she swam alongside him in smooth, gliding strokes. Alex grinning at his sonâs progress, chest puffed with pride. Pure, domestic bliss to plaster over the unpleasant fact that heâd almost drowned there years prior. The sting around her engagement ring reminded her of that dark page in their history, as well. The terror theyâd endured togetherâ-they terror theyâd survived for the sake of their love and their son. Heâd grown so much since then. Leaning against the counter, her eyes scanned the open layout of their home, settling on the door frame that lead into the hall. Addison thought it was a cheesy idea to mark Gabeâs height on the wall, but Alex had insisted. It was important, now, to have that memory. Something to look back on once he was grown. A mark for every birthday, since he was old enough to stand with his grubby, cake-covered hands against the wall.
Her expression soured as she realized it was the only memory sheâd had of their son as of late. Alex was right. She was missing everything. Back when her son was small, things were easy. There was the issue of a short maternity leave, and the daycare at the hospital, and nannies, but there had always been time. Sheâd sneak off to visit him on breaks, or call the nannies so constantly that she was sure theyâd quit on the spot. Seeing him had been as easy as walking down the hall and watching him sleep. There werenât any sports practices or school to take his time away from her. There werenât all-nighters and endless meetings to keep her away from him. Alex was picking up the slack as best he could, she realized, but it could never replace what she was losing. There wouldnât be a ânext timeâ for his first home run, his first broken bone, or his first crush.
There might not even be a ânext timeâ for taking the night off to spend with Alex after Gabe was tucked into bed.
It was then that she realized she was shivering, having left the back door wide open in her absentminded midnight stroll. Forcing herself back to reality, she closed and locked the door, giving Buffy one last look before heading back up the stairs. Addison got as far as sitting down and pulling the blankets over her lap before she stopped, looking down at Alex. He was still fast asleep, his expression lax against the pillow. More than anything, she wanted to burrow into his warmth, but she stopped just short of touching him as she laid down beside him. Heâd wake the minute her chilled skin touched his, and he looked so tired. Tired from all of the stress sheâd put on him. Tired from the ambush sheâd planned. The yelling, and screaming, the âgo to Hellâs, and the insults they couldnât take back. The damage theyâd both done.
So she laid there, watching him sleep, her mind full to the brim as she slowly found warmth soothing her tensed muscles. Would they ever be able to talk about any of this, or would it always be a fight? Were they trapped in a death spiral, or could they be saved? Addison didnât know. For once in her life, when it came to Alex Karev, she honestly didnât know. The very idea was suffocating. She loved him so deeply that all she wanted to do was undo it all, but that was impossible. She couldnât erase what sheâd done any more than she could rid her head of the insults heâd slung at her. Insults that could very well have been true, by the way sheâd been acting. How could she have hurt him so deeply when her only intention was to be everything heâd wanted?
Heavy lids closed once or twice before daybreak, but there was no rest for her in this place now so full of disillusionment and disrepair. What she needed was to talk, but what she needed didnât matter. Not when Alex had largely been the victim here, gone to bed with no supper and hardly a marriage left in his battered hands. Still, when he woke, she found herself watching him stir with a gaze intent on conversation. It took everything in her to stifle it down and look away so he wouldnât notice she hadnât slept. As if the dark circles beneath her eyes hadnât been any indication of just how stressed sheâd been these past few months. As if they didnât darken tenfold after the weight of their last night together burdened her further. It wasnât until breakfast that she finally spoke, sitting across from him at the table theyâd once shared so many wonderful meals at. âI donât know if I can do this.â
   Alex went to sleep that night not knowing what he would be waking up to. Their reunion had been mutually satisfying, but it did not even begin to cover the deep chasm they now had between them. All the anger he had been keeping inside had just come out, spewing like a hot, flowing volcano. He knew he had scalded her with his insensitive words, something he had always been good at; though she had wounded him just as deeply. He could try to forget, but he couldnât. Talking was probably going to have to be on their agenda the following day. Actually, likely the next few weeks. Talking was never Alexâs strong suit, and he fully admitted it. Embraced it even. Usually he was more than capable of expressing himself in other ways, but there was nothing but soft, tender words that could likely pave the path of mending the damage between them. He wasnât looking forward to it.Â
  Yet somehow he managed too fall asleep in the bed beside her that night, the exhaustion from the entire ordeal making it easier than it should have. He decided to push everything aside and deal with it later. Right now he had a twisted stomach from all the hurt, rage -- not to mention the hunger. Although truthfully Alex didnât know if he would have even been able to eat after a fight that brutal. It had almost reminded him of the yelling and screaming heâd grown up with in his own household, the difference being that he had tried to flush Addisonâs rings down the toilet instead of her head. But just like when he had been a child, Alex had learned to shut his mind off. Whatever tomorrow would bring, he would face it when the sun rose.Â
  The alarm made him wince as it blared, and he awkwardly sat up, beginning the process of getting ready for work. Neither he nor Addison said much to each other, and that was probably for the best. He usually wasnât a fully functional human being until he was showered and ready to walk out the front door. The way she watched him made him nervous. Like she was expecting him to say or do something. He in return didnât quite know how to feel around her. It had only been a few hours ago that she had thrown a glass at him, accused him of being a terrible husband, pummeled his chest. Since he had nearly entertained the idea of dropping her off the stairs. A lot had been said and done, and it wasnât something that an âI love youâ was going to fix overnight.Â
  And for once, he wasnât hungry. Still he tried to force himself to eat his Captain Crunch, knowing how important it was to be well fed in the OR --- but it felt like he was swallowing sawdust. There was no delicious ecstasy, and he just wanted to kill the tension between them before it became unbearable. He was going to say something soon, but Addison beat him to it. Her words, however, made his stomach drop. âI donât know if I can do this.â Alex looked up, holding his spoon in front of his mouth. âWhat?â He asked sharply, his voice dangerous; deadly. âDo what?â He tried not to think of the worst, but already his mind was sent into panic overdrive. What couldnât she do? What was this? Addison had never been someone he thought would back down from a challenge.
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