Title | Post-script

Characters/Pairings | Meredith/Addison, Cristina

Summary | Tangents to Meredith and Addison scenes throughout the series, told non-chronologically.

/

I have Meredith Grey's dog.

"He'll eat your shoes," you tell her, Doc lunging for the tennis ball in her hand. Derek watches you both on his trips between the trailer and your car, arms full of sacks of dried dog food. "And pee on your clothes."

Addison launches the tennis ball towards the forest and Doc tears after it, barking merrily. "But he'll fetch me the morning newspaper, right?" she says with a wry smile.

"He'll go through your cupboards," you continue, frowning. "He opens them with his face. And then eats all your food or spills it everywhere. And he poops, like, five times a day. And barks all through the night."

Addison sighs. "Rescue dogs are a lot of work."

"So why are you doing this?"

Addison looks at you. Derek dumps the last sack of dog food onto the deck of the trailer and calls to Doc, who is racing back towards you all with the tennis ball in his mouth. He leaps at Derek, who just barely remains upright. When Doc snatches the ball that Derek throws for him clean out of the air, it is you that Derek looks for, and you don't need her to answer.

/

There are two sides to every story.

"So what's yours?"

Addison lifts one shoulder in a graceful shrug. "He was never there and I missed him."

"So Mark was just a substitute?"

For a moment, you think she might slap you, but she seems to recognise the parallels you're drawing at the very last second and the anger in her face smoothes into sympathy.

"I wouldn't say that," she replies.

"But you guys weren't happy."

"We were ambivalent."

"We were happy," you say in a quiet voice, and there's no blame in it, because you understand, but Addison's chin drops to her chest all the same. "I thought. I thought we were happy."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that."

Addison raises an eyebrow. "It bothers you?"

"That you're more apologetic for me getting my heart broken than the asshole who did the breaking? Yeah, that bothers me."

"That's Derek."

"Then why are you here?"

"I love him," Addison says, looking you dead in the eye. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

/

I need a minute without you.

Halfway out of the closet, you pause. "I'm sorry about prom," you say, and you had to, but the sound it chokes out of Addison makes you wish you hadn't, not any of it, ever.

She tries to shrug, but her shoulders are shaking. "I'm sorry about the bulletin board."

Your head snaps up. "That was you?"

"You're in no position to be indignant." Your gaze drops again, cowed as you are, but Addison takes no notice. "They were in his pocket," she says, disbelieving, and you feel the tightening of her hands into fists deep in your gut. "That's how he thought it best to tell me?"

"I'm really, really sorry."

"Fucking… fuck," she curses. "Assholes. The both of you."

"I'm—"

"I know you are, Grey. But it doesn't—"

"I know," you say quietly. Then, "Can I do anything?"

Addison just looks at you with wet eyes. You nod and exit the closet. You give her a minute without you.

/

You must be the woman who's been screwing my husband.

She follows you out of the hospital on a six minute delay. You had planned to go to Joe's to drown yourself in alcohol but your feet had given up the ghost just in time for you to collapse onto the bench in the parking lot and hide the beginnings of your tears under the drizzling of the sky.

Her voice is gentle and tinged with sadness. "I thought you would have known."

"No."

"I wouldn't have come out swinging like that if I knew. I'm sorry."

Laughter tears from your throat. "Seriously? You're—" You can't even follow that thought to the finish, because how? How is she apologising to you? "This is crazy. I'm—fuck."

Addison frowns. "Are you alright?"

"Not really." You're laughing again, almost hysterically, but it's better than the full-body sobbing you feel you're entitled to. "At all."

Addison watches you for several long seconds. "This is going to sound strange," she says, cautiously, "and a little hypocritical, but… you're better off."

You blink at her, stunned. Two fat teardrops trail down your cheeks in response.

Right.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

/

You're dating the vet.

You catch up to her at the end of the hallway. "Addison, wait—"

"Don't." She isn't crying but you think it's probably only a matter of time. "Please go away."

"But nothing happened—"

"And that's just it, isn't it?" she snaps, throwing her hands in the air. "You're not even sleeping with him and you're still all he thinks about."

She stalks off before you can offer more empty words. You leave a cup of hot chocolate on the desk in her office between patients and hope it says what you can't seem to.

/

I don't hate you.

"That's nice," you say, grinning, and open your arms.

"I'm not hugging you, Grey."

"Why not?" you pout.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"Don't talk back to me. I'm your attending."

"My attending whose always propositioning me for threesomes," you mumble, halfway rolling your eyes.

"That was before you broke your cardinal rule, without including me in the proceedings, might I add."

"Sorry," you shrug. "It was pretty last minute."

Addison grimaces. "I'm sure."

You wiggle your arms at her. "Please?"

She smells like clean sheets and vanilla and when Derek calls your name from the doorway, stunned, you tell him he's an idiot, and marvel at the music in Addison's laughter.

/

Can I join in, or are you not into threesomes?

"So are you?"

You gape at her. "You're not serious."

"No. Well. No."

"Oh my God."

Addison smirks. "What would it hurt?"

Her laughter chases you out of the elevator.

/

Is there brain function?

"That was a close one," Addison says, trying to smile, but her eyes are full of water, and you can't meet them when you tell her you are sorry.

There is a definite edge in her voice when she fires back: "For what?"

"Everything." You would shrug, but you think it might hurt enough to break the tenuous hold you have over your own tears. "But specifically making you cry. Twice."

"I'm not crying."

"And I really am fine."

Addison's jaw clenches. "I hate that that's a lie. Almost as much as I hate that I played a part in making it so."

"None of this was your fault."

"I disagree."

"Well I think I would know," you snap.

"Why did you do it?" she asks. There's a pain behind the words that doesn't correlate with what the two of you should mean to each other and it is that more than anything that forces the truth out of your still burning throat.

"Why not?"

And this time you do shrug, and it hurts a thousand times worse than you expected, but you don't have to coerce Addison into holding you.

/

/ I'm not Meredith Grey!

"I can't believe I did that," Addison says in wide-eyed horror.

"I'm sure no one even noticed."

She shoots you a look, and you grimace apologetically. "Yeah, that was lame. Sorry."

"Which one of us do you think is more embarrassed?"

"Well," you start, lowering your chart, "one of my patients asked me how I find time to home wreck with my busy schedule."

"Oh God," Addison groans, burying her head in her hands.

"Yeah. For the record though? I spend most of my time wishing I was you."

She turns her head towards you, cheek pillowed on her forearms. You can only shrug—what are you going to do? crossed with honesty—best policy?—and crack a smile when she laughs.

"We're pathetic."

"Seriously."

/

No more men? You?

"So." Addison smirks, fingering the garbled mess you're trying to pass off as a sweater. "Switching teams?"

You eye her warily. "Celibacy is a two-way street. In that there is no sex with anyone. Penis or otherwise."

"What a shame," she sighs, shaking her head.

You stifle a grin. "Even if it was a one-way street, we'd be breaking my cardinal rule."

"Which is?"

"No married people!"

"I think it's safe to say that ship has sailed."

"Only by accident! It was… improperly moored!"

Addison frowns. "Are you sure you haven't been drinking, Grey?"

"No. I mean, yes. I'm making a sweater!"

"You know," Addison says, leaning towards you, "your cardinal rule wouldn't be an issue if you were into threesomes."

Derek returns from the bathroom to find the two of you in a fit of laughter, your knitting needles forgotten on the bar top.

/

Are you letting him get away?

"Yes," you say, and feel lighter than you have in what you swear has been forever. "I am."

"And it's about freaking time, too," Cristina interjects. "Don't undo all my hard work, Montgomery."

"Your hard work?"

"Hey, I called it from the beginning."

You shoot her a look. "You called him McDreamy."

"Seriously?" Addison laughs. "That was you?"

"I was being ironic." She drags the word out, like you're testing her quota of stupid for the day. "God, you two deserve each other."

Addison startles as you look away. "What?"

Cristina rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm not sticking around for this comedy of errors." She finishes her beer in one long swallow and hops off her stool. "Later lesbians."

The two of you exist in semi-awkward semi-silence for a while before Addison takes Cristina's place at the bar. "I'll admit that this place has changed," she says, not quite looking at you, "but Yang? Exactly the same."

You chuckle nervously. "Yeah, she's pretty consistent."

"And you?"

"Well," you say, gesturing to the empty tumblers in front of you, "I'm still quite the drinker."

Addison smiles. "But you're no longer celibate."

"No," you laugh, and feel your face heat up. Addison stands and moves towards you.

"And there's no more knitting," she asserts, "or cardinal rules."

"I still have rules," you object with a smirk. "But you're no longer married, so."

"And you're still not into threesomes."

She's standing between your legs now, the inside of your knees touched to the outside of her thighs.

You grin. "Definitely not."

"Interesting," she murmurs, and kisses you.