'*' Diary of Jane '*'
Prologue

It has become a sort of dance through shards of ice that will cut her feet if she slips, but she doesn't. So much depends on this, more than anyone will ever know. She tiptoes carefully, avoiding the fragments, tiptoeing around glittering splinters, knowing that one wrong step will incur a rush of crimson. Nobody notices how her fingers shake whenever she is too still; they're too focused on the perfect mask her face has fallen into. They don't see the jumps, the shivers, the shifts of her eyes. Nobody sees anything.

The evidence isn't invisible, but she never expected them to see her because her parents didn't and then Derek didn't and sometimes she checks, holding a fair forearm in front of her face, just to make sure that she hasn't gone translucent.

The evidence is there, even.

He'd see, she thinks, because he always saw. But he isn't here.

An earlier version of her would've called herself weak, but that Addison didn't have her heartstrings all tied up and claimed like this Addison does. Occasionally getting glass in her pale heel isn't making her stronger, necessarily, just more aware of her strength, of sacrifice, of how far she can be pushed.

No one knows. No one sees.

It's killing her slowly.

*'*''*''*'*

She walks a line between night and day, toeing it as carefully as a tightrope walker.

The walk up the sandy cobblestone path to her beachside house used to be a pleasurable unwind after a day of salvaging whatever babies she could from the clutches of emergencies and birth defects. Now her heart thrums uncomfortably against her sternum, as if this location makes her spontaneously tachycardiac. Her days are structured, predicable, but at night life can't protect her.

Addison unlocks the front door, the bracelets she'd arranged strategically on her wrist clanging softly, and steps in. It looks the same as ever, the large glass windows overlooking the ocean, the furniture in soft, comforting pastels and beiges. But this house will never hold the same comfort it did when she first toured it, fresh off the plane from dreary, miserable Seattle.

How much people would pay, to unwind time.

"Addison?" comes the usual shout from the living room, and she sighs upon discovering that it is nearly 5:30; Naomi held her up with some new questions.

"Yeah," she shouts back, teeth digging into her lip, wondering whether she should apologize for being late. Before she can decide, she's hit by a cannonball of strawberry blonde wisps and huge, sad, stormy grey eyes.

"Mama! Mama!" Marin coos, chubby little fingers grabbing at her knee until she sweeps the two-year-old up into her arms, breathing deeply to savor watermelon and raspberry shampoo, the last shard of sanity she still possesses. "Oo bah!"

"Yeah, baby, I'm back," she whispers into tiny seashell ears adorned with tiny crystal earrings before Marin twists and takes hold of Addison's nose, giggling softly. She suppresses the urge to examine her daughter fully, knowing that doing so with her husband leaning against the doorframe will only lead to a fight.

"You're late," Jack states neutrally, muscled arms folded across his chest. With deep green eyes she's discovered are nearly impossible to decipher, dark, coffee-colored hair, and handsome, clean-cut features, Jack is the sort of man her parents would actually approve of and women flirt with in the hopes of getting knocked up and roping him into a shotgun wedding. Add a law degree, a height of six feet, and betraying, disconcerting kindness, and you have Jack Deveraux.

Her husband.

"Sorry," she murmurs into Marin's shoulder, eyes cast downward, knowing that arguing is useless. The last thing her daughter needs is to see them in another fight. "Naomi wanted to talk … about, um, a patient."

"Is that all?"

"She wants to hang out more, she says she feels like we're drifting away from each other," she sighs, praying that this conversation will be over soon without negative repercussions.

"We're working on our marriage, and besides, she sees you everyday at work. Don't you think she's being a little bit clingy?"

Addison doesn't respond because Jack's question was rhetorical, like the many he feeds to accused criminals as a prosecutor, only the different is she actually realizes what an answer will result in.

"You going to do the dishes?" he asks a second later, ruffling the back of his short, deep brunette locks in a way she used to find endearing, and peeks around the corner to check the status of his basketball game.

"I'm actually pretty ti -" she begins to protest a bit feebly, but when Jack's eyes flash to Marin, who is lying on the floor, gazing up at her mother as if simply changing perspective can alter the reality she sees. But whether Marin looks at her upside down or right side up, their situation will be the same. She sighs and brushes past Jack back into the kitchen. "What do you say, Marin? You want to help Mommy put the dishes to bed?"

"No," Marin grins, pearly teeth bared in a mischievous smile so like her father's. "Wahna pway."

"After all the dishes are sleeping," Addison coaxes, hoping that one of her impromptu games will lure her daughter, she hasn't seen her all day and wants to feel little hands at the hem of her skirt instead of fruitlessly begging for Jack's affection. "The forks can't go to bed without your lullaby."

"Wuwwaby," Marin reconsiders, tapping one chubby finger on her pointed chin before toddling quickly back into the kitchen. Addison makes to follow her, but is hindered by Jack's firm grip on her upper arm.

"Addison," he says, leaning in close, and she curses the iridescent emerald pine of his eyes because she can't discern whether that's anger in their depths. They stand like this, two dancers engaged in a furious routine, until he releases her toward the kitchen. "Don't you think that skirt's rather short?"

It isn't really a question. She sinks down in front of the dishwasher; head on her knees, and tries to summon the courage to help Marin tuck the spoons in.

*'*''*''*'*

"Twin-keel twin-keel wittwah stah," Marin sings happily against the creamy expanse of Addison's neck as she carries the child upstairs wearily. Her room serves as both her bedroom and a nursery, because if Marin has an episode at night, she needs to be close by. There is a white sleigh crib in one corner, but Marin prefers the heavenly beige comfort of Addison's bed.

"PJ time, Rinny," Addison says, searching for the child in the mountain of down comforter. Giggles come from a large lump in the fabric and she allows a smile to grace her face, as she pretends that this is not only possible in their sanctuary, that her entire life is bathed in such serenity and beauty.

"Ha I won-duh wah oo ahr," the toddler sings happily as Addison pulls the pale pink sundress over the head of crimson wisps and holds her breath. But Marin's ivory skin is as flawless as ever, even as it is hidden by a strawberry patterned pajama top.

"Uh uh-buh dah wurld so ai!" Marin shrieks as she's assaulted by finger bent on tickling her. She squirms, tangling her small body into a cocoon in the sheets, until she suddenly goes still.

"Rinny, what comes next?" Addison prompts, her heart leaping up into her throat. "Remember? Like a diamond in the sky …"

"Nuh," Marin shakes her head and lays one delicate white hand so gently on Addison's arm she's prepared to swear the child can't be merely two. "Owie, Momma."

"Yeah," Addison agrees with a sigh. "Owie."

*'*''*''*'*

I'm not even going to say I shouldn't be starting another story, but it's been so long since I've written I just decided to post this. It's just a short prologue, chapter one should be coming soon, as well as updates to my other stories. I hope you liked it and I think you can figure out what's going on, let me know what you think. Just a warning, it's rated M for a reason. Oh, and it's going to be Maddison, definitely, with other canon couples as well.