Chapter Text
The hospital was awake in that quiet, predawn way — the echo of footsteps down the corridor, the hum of vending machines, the sharp scent of coffee threading through the air. Meredith stood up on the walkway overlooking it all, watching the sunrise stain the glass a soft amber. It was ordinary. Beautifully, impossibly ordinary and after everything, she still wasn’t used to it.
Being back.
Being alive.
Being herself again.
Her world had settled into something that almost resembled peace — fragile and new, like glass still cooling after the fire. She’d slipped back into the rhythm of work with a precision that surprised even her, carving out a space that felt earned, not inherited.
She’d learned how to teach again, how to trust her hands, how to breathe without checking for cracks in her chest. The movements came easily, yes, but what steadied her now wasn’t muscle memory. It was will. It was proof she still knew how to do this, how to be this - Dr. Meredith Grey, General Surgery Attending. Not the woman who’d vanished. Not the ghost who’d come home.
In her mind she could still see Addison that morning — hair tousled, coffee in hand, bare feet padding across their kitchen floor. The sunlight had caught on the ring on her finger, scattering little fragments of light across the tiles. It wasn’t the kind of happiness Meredith had grown up believing in. It wasn’t cinematic, or perfect. It was quieter — built brick by brick, by two people learning how to live with the weight of what they’d survived.
Eight months since coming home, and everyday Meredith felt it — the terrifying, delicate possibility of peace.
The sound of a door swinging open broke Meredith from her thoughts. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was — the soft shuffle of polished shoes, the faint rustle of a suit jacket.
“Thought I might find you up here,” Richard said, voice warm with that quiet familiarity only years could earn.
Meredith smiled faintly, eyes still on the sunrise. “You always do.”
He came to stand beside her, hands resting on the railing, gaze following hers toward the slow, spreading light through the hospital. For a moment, neither spoke — just the hum of the hospital waking below them. “Rounds haven’t even started,” he said at last, a note of teasing in his voice. “You planning to beat the interns to exhaustion before sunrise?”
Meredith let out a small laugh — soft, but real. “Someone has to set the bar.”
Richard smiled at that, but his tone gentled as he glanced at her. “How are you really doing, Meredith?”
The question landed between them, quiet but heavy. She hesitated — because fine was easier, and she’d learned to say it so convincingly these past months. But under Richard’s gaze, the word felt too small.
“I’m… trying,” she admitted. “To just be here.”
Richard nodded slowly, his expression a careful blend of pride and concern. “You’ve been through hell. No one expects you to walk out of it and feel normal right away.”
“I know.” She leaned on the railing, eyes fixed on the sunlight climbing the edge of the glass. “But I want to. I don’t want that to be the only thing people see when they look at me — what happened. I want to be… me again.”
“You are,” he said gently. “Just a different version. Stronger, maybe a little wiser. Definitely more stubborn.”
That drew a quiet smile from her, the corners of her mouth softening. “Addison says that too.”
“I imagine she would,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “She brings out the fight in you.”
“She brings out a lot of things in me,” Meredith admitted, voice dipping — not quite shy, but vulnerable. “Even when it’s hard.”
Richard looked at her then — really looked — and for a moment, the pride in his eyes was almost paternal. “That’s what love does, Meredith. It doesn’t erase the hard parts; it gives you someone to face them with.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed still — just the quiet hum of the hospital and the morning light settling softly on her face. Meredith nodded, a small, honest smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It does.” Beside her, Richard smiled too — content to stand there, watching the sunrise with the daughter that was never quite his, but he had always claimed in his heart.
Standing in the OR gallery, Meredith found herself watching Derek below — steady and composed, guiding Lexie through a complex Neuro case. Lexie was focused, determined, so achingly Grey in the way she worked that it made Meredith’s chest ache.
It had taken time, but eventually she and Derek had learned to work together. It was a mix of patience, awkward honesty, and a lot of quiet that neither of them had known they were capable of. Because it wasn’t just about Meredith or Derek— it was about Addison, and everything unspoken that lingered between them because of her.
It was about how Derek had looked at Addison months ago, when grief and loneliness had blurred into something softer and dangerous. Meredith had seen it the night she returned— that flicker of longing, and sometimes it still left her burning with a guilt she was still learning to understand.
She hadn’t blamed him. Not then, not now.
Now, months later, they stood shoulder to shoulder in operating rooms, colleagues — not rivals. Meredith respected him. Trusted him. Even liked him - sometimes. And he, in turn, treated her like what she was: someone who’d survived, not someone to be pitied. That mutual grace had become its own strange friendship, which sometimes left others shaking their head in wonder.
The lunch rush had thinned into a dull, steady murmur — the sound of clinking cutlery, muted conversation, and caffeine keeping the surgical floor alive. Meredith sat at a corner table with Cristina, Alex, and Lexie, the remains of a half-eaten salad in front of her. Alex stabbed at his sandwich with unnecessary force. “I’m telling you, she’s blowing it out of proportion. I didn’t go behind her back — I just… looped the parents in before she could.”
Cristina didn’t look up from her coffee. “You did go behind her back. That’s literally what you just said, just slower.”
Lexie winced. “You probably should’ve told her first. Arizona’s… well, she’s tiny, but she’s terrifying.”
Alex scoffed. “She’s mad because I came up with the better plan, and she doesn’t like being shown up by a fellow. She’s got this ego thing.”
Meredith arched an eyebrow. “Oh, right. Because you’re known for your humility.”
Cristina smirked into her cup. “Amen.”
Across the room, laughter drew Meredith’s gaze — Addison, sitting with Mark, Callie, and Arizona, heads bent over the table, likely talking about recent hospital gossip. Derek and Teddy entered mid-laugh, trays in hand, and Callie waved them over. Derek slid into the seat beside Addison, his shoulder brushing hers as they exchanged an easy smile, the kind born of shared work and old familiarity.
Meredith felt something twist in her chest — not jealousy, exactly, but something quieter. Something complicated. Alex noticed. Of course he did. “Does that… still bother you?”
Her eyes flicked back to him, guarded. “Should it?”
He shrugged, far too casual. “I don’t know. It’s just — people talked. Before you came back. That something might’ve been happening between them.”
Cristina’s head snapped up. “Seriously, Karev?”
“What?” Alex said, defensive. “I’m just saying — you disappear, Addison’s grieving, Derek’s divorced, and they were close. That’s not nothing.”
“Everyone also knows that didn’t even get off the ground,” Meredith countered, her tone clipped. “Addison and I – We talked about it, we’re fine. I’m fine.”
Cristina smirked into her coffee. “You look totally fine, by the way.”
Meredith exhaled, glaring at her best friend. “Shut up.” She threw a balled-up napkin at her, and the moment broke — laughter spilling through their table as the tension eased.
Across the cafeteria, Addison glanced over at the sound, eyes finding Meredith’s. For a long heartbeat, their gazes held — warm, steady, grounding.
A familiar presence arrived softly behind her, startling her from her thoughts. She didn’t turn. She didn’t need too. Addison’s reflection appeared beside hers in the glass, faint and familiar. “Hey,” she smiled, “how’s she doing?”
“She’s good — better every day,” Meredith’s tone was proud. Addison just hummed, tilting her head and watching the movement below. Meredith smiled faintly. “And Derek is still brilliant. Infuriatingly so.”
Addison laughed softly. “Careful, you almost sounded sincere. You can admit it without flinching, you know.”
“I know.” Meredith finally looked at her. “I meant it. We’ve found this… balance. I think we both needed it — a way to move forward without pretending nothing happened.”
Addison studied her, eyes soft with understanding. “You’re not talking about what happened to you, are you?”
Meredith’s smile didn’t quite hold. “No. I’m talking about you.”
That earned the faintest flicker of emotion across Addison’s face — guilt, affection, something more complicated than either. “Meredith,” she said quietly.
“It’s okay,” Meredith said, her tone soft but certain. “You were in pain, and he made it a little easier to breathe. I don’t hate that.” Addison’s throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing back the emotion in her chest. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was full. Whole. The kind that meant understanding had finally outgrown the wound.
Addison’s hand brushed hers, their fingers finding each other easily. “You are remarkable,” Addison murmured.
Meredith’s gaze lingered on her, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere… maybe even more than that.” Addison’s laugh was quiet, unguarded, the kind that reached her eyes. Below, the surgery continued — methodical, human – and in the quiet of the gallery, two women stood side by side. Proof that love could break, mend, and still somehow be enough to keep breathing.
The pager went off like a gunshot — shrill, insistent, impossible to ignore. Meredith’s head snapped up. “Trauma,” she said, already reaching for her coat. Addison caught her sleeve, just long enough to pull her in for a quick, grounding kiss. “Have fun,” she murmured against her lips. Meredith managed a small smile before she was gone — stride purposeful, mind already spinning through the calculus of triage.
Cristina was waiting by the elevators as Meredith fell into step beside her. “You ready for another round of hell?” Cristina asked, her voice that perfect mix of annoyance and adrenaline.
Meredith shot her a sideways look. “You say that like the devil doesn’t send you love letters.”
Cristina smirked as the lift began moving. “She does. They’re written in blood and poor decisions.”
The doors opened, and they stepped into the ER — into the noise, the movement, the familiar storm. A gurney barrelled through the doors, paramedics shouting vitals. Meredith grabbed one side, Cristina the other.
“Multiple gunshot wounds, chest and abdomen,” the paramedic barked. “Lost pulse twice in transit.”
Meredith was already assessing. “Let’s get him to Trauma One — Cristina, airway.”
“Already on it.”
They moved in perfect sync — no hesitation, no wasted motion. Meredith cut through the noise with short, clear orders. Cristina’s hands were steady, voice sharp.
“Pressure’s tanking,” an intern called.
Cristina snapped, “Then push the damn fluids.”
“I need packing for the wounds,” Meredith said, reaching out. Cristina slapped it into her hand without looking. It wasn’t chaos — not anymore. It was choreography. Brutal, necessary, beautiful in its precision. “Alright,” Meredith said finally. “We’re taking him up to the OR. Let’s move. Now.”
They scrubbed in side by side, the tension humming between them — not discomfort, just energy. Familiar. Home.
“You ever notice,” Cristina said, breaking the silence, “we always get called in for the ones that are one breath from death?”
Meredith arched a brow. “Maybe they like the drama.”
Cristina gave a low laugh. “We all know you love the drama.” Meredith didn’t deny it.
In the OR, the world narrowed to scalpel and suction, to instinct and trust. They moved together like they’d never stopped — Meredith taking the abdomen, Cristina on the chest. Years of shared chaos distilled into motion.
“Pressure’s crashing,” Cristina said tightly.
“Then stop narrating and fix it.”
Cristina glared over the drape. “You’re bossy today.”
“You’re welcome.” Time stretched, folded, then finally — mercifully — the monitor steadied. The patient’s vitals levelled, the rhythm smoothing out. Meredith exhaled, stepping back as the adrenaline ebbed. “Alright. Let’s get him to ICU.”
Cristina peeled off her gloves. “You make that look too easy sometimes.”
Meredith gave a tired, crooked smile. “If it looks easy, you weren’t paying attention.”
Cristina’s grin was all teeth. “You missed this.”
Meredith met her eyes, soft but certain. “Yeah. I did.”
The room quieted — two surgeons standing in the aftermath, bloodied but unshaken, bound by the strange comfort of control after chaos.
Addison leaned against the back wall of the busy OR gallery, arms crossed loosely, eyes trained on the scene below. Meredith and Cristina moved through their procedure with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic — the same precision Addison had always admired in them both. The light caught the sheen of Meredith’s instruments as she leaned over the patient, voice low but steady, and Cristina’s hands moved like a conductor guiding a delicate orchestra. It was mesmerising.
Whispering captured her attention, eyes drawn to the group of interns crowded in the front row of seats, whispering like they were witnessing a sacred ritual. “I swear, Meredith Grey is like… untouchable,” one murmured, eyes wide. “She’s so calm, so… perfect under pressure.”
“Did you see that suture? That was perfect,” whispered another, her voice barely above a squeak. “I… I can’t even imagine getting through this intern year without crying in front of her.”
“She’s beautiful though,” a third piped up, eyes glued to Meredith’s precise movements. “And kind of terrifying.”
Addison rolled her eyes so hard she feared they might get stuck.
“She’s intimidating,” another added, nodding furiously. “And look at Cristina Yang. I don’t think she even blinks. If she glares at you, you might actually die before the patient does.”
Teddy was suddenly at Addison’s side, “Terrifying? That’s one way to put it,” she smirked. “I’ve seen Meredith glare at coffee machines like they insulted her personally.”
Addison snorted quietly, “Sounds about right. They’ve got no idea.” A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. She couldn’t help the pride swelling in her chest — her Meredith, sharp and brilliant, commanding the OR like she was born to it. Meredith and Cristina were a machine in motion — fluid, confident, and sharp, moving with an unspoken language that left everyone else scrambling to keep up.
Beside her, Teddy leaned in, her eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and amusement. “Do they ever stop whispering about them?” she murmured.
“Not a chance,” Addison said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “But I can’t blame them. Look at them.”
“They look so natural,” Teddy whispered, her tone a mix of awe and teasing.
“Tell me about it,” Addison replied, voice softening. She watched Meredith operate meticulously while Cristina’s hands danced around her, guiding, correcting, anticipating. “…I’ve been watching Cristina wrestle with scalpels for months — she never moved like that before. And Meredith…” Her voice caught, a tremor threading through the reverence. “…she’s back. Really back. And it’s… it’s everything I hoped it would be.”
Teddy’s gaze softened, “You’re staring like a lovesick idiot,” she teased lightly.
Addison’s smile was small, private. “Maybe. Or maybe I just can’t stop watching someone I’ve loved through everything.” Her voice had a quiet, reverent tone, full of admiration and longing.
Teddy’s own lips quirked in a knowing grin. “Sounds familiar,” she said softly, her eyes flicking to Cristina below, who was barking orders and moving with her usual fearsome grace.
Addison’s gaze never left Meredith, but she caught the faint glimmer in Teddy’s tone — the soft pride, the fierce protectiveness, the unshakable affection she carried for Cristina. And in that moment, watching the two women they loved, they could smile quietly, sharing a small, unspoken bond — that kind of love, wild and resilient, was worth everything.
The interns continued their whispered awe, unaware of Addison’s or Teddy’s presence as the surgery came to a close.
Ducking back into the hall and making their way to the cafeteria, Addison shook her head, smirking. “Honestly, they’re going to need therapy by the time they scrub in with Cristina.”
Teddy laughed softly, elbowing her gently. “And Meredith isn’t helping. That calm, terrifying brilliance of hers? They should be afraid she’ll slice open their dignity before a patient’s incision.”
Addison raised an eyebrow, amused. “Says the woman who’s practically married to Yang. You’re the expert on terrifying brilliance.”
Teddy rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. “Touché. But really… watching them operate like that? It’s like seeing poetry in motion. Intense, terrifying poetry.”
Addison’s chest warmed. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. Even after everything… every single day I watch her, I fall a little more.”
Teddy’s expression softened, “I get it. I see it with Cristina too, and it’s beautiful. To watch the people you love in their element, unstoppable and completely themselves.”
Addison smiled faintly, thinking of Meredith’s elegance in the OR. “Beautiful, terrifying… and mine. Every nerve in me is hers.”
Teddy nudged her gently. “Careful, Addison. If you keep saying things like that, I might cry next time I’m in the OR with her.”
Addison laughed, a soft, fragile sound. “Then you’ll be in good company.”
They walked in silence for a moment more. Hearts full, the warmth between them steady and grounding, a small island of safety in a world that had tested them all in unimaginable ways.
Meredith and Cristina exited the ICU, scrubs still damp from sweat, hair pulled back in careless knots. The air outside the patient’s room felt lighter, somehow, and Meredith could feel the tension in her shoulders start to ease.
Cristina fell into step beside her, hands tucked into her scrub pockets, eyes scanning the hall like she was on some personal reconnaissance mission. “I saw her earlier,” she said casually, nodding down the corridor.
Meredith didn’t look up. “Who?”
Cristina’s lips curved, dangerous and amused. “Your fiancée. Addison.”
Meredith’s pace faltered slightly. “Oh.” Simple. Neutral. Controlled.
Cristina’s grin widened. “Oh?” She leaned closer, voice dropping. “The rock, Meredith. The ring. How the hell did you keep that a secret? You proposed and didn’t tell me? I feel… betrayed.”
Meredith groaned, dropping her head back as they walked, “I didn’t want to make a spectacle.” She laughed softly, “It’s… personal.”
Cristina shrugged. “I get it. You wanted it to be private, romantic, all that mushy, terrifying crap. Fine. Your circus, your rules.”
Meredith rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got a knack for poetry, Cristina.”
“I call it brutal honesty,” Cristina replied, smirking. “Though, not going to lie, the thought of you in love — truly in love …It’s… unsettling. But also kind of beautiful. In that dark, twisty, terrible way you are.”
Meredith glanced at her, letting the words land, feeling a small warmth spread through her chest. “It’s steady, finally. I’d been afraid of steady for a long time, before everything.”
Cristina snorted. “Steady? Meredith Grey? That’s like calling a hurricane a light drizzle. But fine. I’ll allow it. You seem happy, and terrifyingly soft for someone who used to make people bleed just by existing.”
Meredith laughed again, quieter this time, letting herself absorb the teasing, the approval, and the truth all at once. “She’s my soft and I’m her chaos. Somehow it just works.”
Cristina barked a laugh as they continued walking , their banter biting, playful, inappropriate - but beneath it ran a current of trust, shared history, and the kind of bond that only survived every storm they’d ever faced together.
The neon lights of Joe’s flickered softly as the group claimed a corner booth, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. The scent of fried food and coffee mixed with the low hum of conversation from other diners, a comforting background to what felt like a moment suspended in time.
“Finally,” Lexie said, raising her glass. “I was starting to think Meredith was going to chicken out.”
“Hey!” Meredith bit, “I needed to be sure Addison would actually say yes.”
Addison smirked. “And miss out on being tortured by your chaos forever?”
Meredith shot her a mock glare. “You’re signing up willingly, remember”
Addison laughed softly. “Oh, I am."
Across the booth, Cristina raised an eyebrow, sipping her soda like a hawk watching a caged bird. “Well, look at you two. Practically glowing. Who knew heartbreak could age like fine wine?”
“Shut up, Yang” Addison said, half laughing.
Arizona leaned forward, eyes catching the light on Addison’s hand. “Okay, that ring is blinding. Meredith, did you propose or financially cripple yourself?”
Meredith didn’t look up from her drink. “Both. Totally worth it.”
Addison raised her hand, inspecting the diamond with mock seriousness. “It’s not that big.”
Cristina snorted. “It has its own gravitational pull.”
Meredith smirked, finally glancing over. “Good. Now no one can say they didn’t see it coming.”
Teddy chuckled from her side, eyes soft as she watched Meredith. “It’s perfect - both of you. Seriously.” She glanced at Addison, then back at Meredith. “I’ve never seen either of you look… at peace like this before.”
Callie leaned over, grinning. “That’s love for you. Some people run screaming. These two? They dive straight into the fire and take notes.”
Mark raised his glass, one brow arched. “I’ll toast to the brave. To Addison and Meredith: may your life together be only marginally less dramatic than it’s been so far.”
Meredith waved a hand, mock offence on her face. “Excuse me? Are you implying Addison survived an apocalypse or something?”
Callie snorted. “If by apocalypse you mean you, Meredith… then yes. And somehow, she’s thriving.”
Cristina leaned back, her smirk softening just a fraction. “I’ll admit it. You two are ridiculous, but it’s… good. You both deserve ridiculous. Especially after… you know.” She let her voice trail, the weight of months past briefly lingering in her eyes.
Addison leaned toward Meredith; voice soft but teasing. “I get to keep you forever, huh? No returns?”
Meredith’s lips twitched into a smile, “Sorry, store policy is final. So yes. Forever.” Addison squeezed her hand under the table, a silent promise that nothing — not fear, not trauma, not anything — would ever make her let go again.
Meredith caught her gaze, a soft smile curving her lips. “We made it.”
Arizona clinked her glass against the others. “To making it. And to doing it together, with minimal casualties.”
“To doing it!” Meredith and Cristina smirked. Everyone laughed, but beneath the banter and teasing, there was a current of gratitude, relief, and quiet awe. They had survived. They were here. And for tonight, that was enough.
Addison leaned into Meredith’s shoulder, finally letting herself breathe a little easier, a small, shaky laugh escaping. “There was a moment I wasn’t sure we’d get here.”
Meredith kissed her temple, softly, tenderly. “I did. I knew we would.” And here, surrounded by friends who had become family, they allowed themselves to feel it — the impossible weight of happiness, heavy but grounding, settling into the hollow spaces trauma had left behind.
The air was thick and sour, carrying the stench of sweat, blood, and fear. Meredith’s vision was blurred, the edges of the world trembling like a candle in the wind. She was being dragged along the cold concrete floor, her arms pinned, her legs scraping. Her captors shouted, voices rough and alien, shouting orders, threats, curses she didn’t fully understand. One yelled at her, another shoved her forward, a gun pressing against her back. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall, heart hammering so hard it echoed in her skull.
Ahead, a makeshift bed rested on a rickety table under a single flickering bulb. On it lay a child — no more than ten — his body mangled, shrapnel embedded deep, blood seeping like ink across his small chest. He whimpered, eyes wide and terrified. Meredith’s hands shook as she tried to take in what she was seeing, her medical mind screaming at her to act. The men yelled and pointed towards him, their words were harsh, incomprehensible, but the urgency was clear. Meredith stood beside the boy, hands trembling as she tried to stabilise him with what little medical equipment she'd been provided. Every attempt felt futile.
She pressed her hands to his chest, tried to stem the bleeding, whispered what she could — prayers, instructions, anything. But his breathing faltered, shallow and uneven, slipping further away with each passing second. Meredith’s throat ached as tears blurred her vision.
A voice shouted angrily, another hand grabbed her arm, yanking her up. Panic clawed at her chest. This is it, she thought. This is the end. I can’t save him. I’m not enough. A scream tore from her lips, a mix of frustration and fear, the sound echoing in the cramped, dimly lit room. She felt the cold bite of reality, the weight of impossible choice pressing down like stones on her ribs.
And then — warmth. The air shifted. Not the stale, oppressive heat of fear, but something soft, familiar, grounding. A scent she knew like home — clean linen, faint soap, something impossibly comforting.
“Meredith…”
Her eyes snapped open. The darkness clung to her mind like a shadow, but the voice — soft, coaxing, insistent — was real. “Meredith, it’s okay… you’re safe.” Addison’s hands cupped her face, thumb brushing across her cheek, anchoring her to the present. The pounding in her chest slowed, breath returning in ragged, uneven gasps.
"You're okay", Addison whispered, "You're home."
The room was too quiet, the air too still, the dream still wrapped around her like a fist.
“I’m fine,” she said, even though her voice shook, even though she hadn’t fully returned to herself yet. Addison pushed up on an elbow, concern etched across her face, but Meredith was already slipping out of bed—bare feet soundless on the floor as she moved like someone who needed to outrun a ghost.
She didn’t know where she was going until she was already there.
The kitchen was dim except for the low amber stove light, washing the counters in a soft glow. Meredith leaned on the bench for a moment, breathing hard, swallowing down the tight ache in her chest. She needed movement, something real, something grounding. She was halfway through pouring water when she felt the shift in the room—Addison in the doorway, silent, watching her with that gentle, unyielding kind of worry.
“You know, you do your comforting better close up,” Meredith said quietly, not looking at her. It was half a joke, half a plea.
Addison pushed off the frame and came toward her, steps slow, deliberate. When she slid her arms around Meredith’s waist, Meredith nearly sagged into her from relief alone.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Meredith whispered, voice frayed, knuckles white around the counter.
“It’s okay,” Addison murmured, kissing just beneath her ear. Her voice was rough with sleep, soft with concern. “I want to be woken when you need me.”
Meredith exhaled shakily, turning in Addison’s arms. The way Addison looked at her—worried, steady, there—made something inside her crack open. She kissed her, slow at first, searching for anchoring, for quiet, for anything that wasn’t the spinning in her chest.
“Mer,” Addison breathed, pulling back just slightly. “… this doesn’t have to be the way you forget.”
Meredith’s smile was small and raw. “Maybe not. But it’s the way I want to remember I’m here.” Her hand rose to Addison’s neck, thumb brushing her pulse, grounding them both. “With you.”
The words landed between them, quiet but heavy.
She kissed Addison again—deeper this time, something trembling and urgent threading through her. Addison’s breath caught, her hands tightening on Meredith’s hips like she didn’t want her going anywhere.
“Meredith,” she whispered, as if saying her name could steady them both.
Meredith’s fingers slid beneath Addison’s shirt, tracing her waist, her ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She eased Addison back against the counter, lips ghosting down her throat. “I want you,” Meredith said, voice low and honest, not a distraction but a confession. “I need you to pull me back.”
Addison’s breath hitched, torn between the ache of wanting and the ache of understanding. “Mer—”
“Look at me.” Meredith lifted her head, meeting her eyes—really meeting them. Addison saw everything: the remnants of fear, the hunger to feel grounded, the desire, the need to be held in a way that made the world make sense again.
“Help me forget,” Meredith whispered, but the crack in her voice made it clear: make me feel safe.
Addison’s resolve melted instantly.
Meredith kissed her again, deeper, hotter, desperate in a way that made Addison clutch at her waist with shaking hands. Addison’s knees nearly gave out when Meredith pressed closer, thigh sliding between hers with slow, devastating precision.
“Here?” Addison gasped, glancing around the dim room. “In the kitchen?”
Meredith rested her forehead against hers. “You want too?” Her hands slid beneath Addison’s shirt, tracing warm lines along her ribs that had Addison’s breath shuddering out of her. When Meredith’s thumb brushed below her hipbone, Addison let out a helpless, breathy sound. “Meredith,” she whispered, the word breaking apart from want and tenderness both.
That made Meredith smile—a small, aching kind of smile, as if Addison giving in was the one thing that tethered her back to earth. She kissed the hollow of Addison’s throat, slow and reverent, hands guiding her onto the counter. Addison let her, opening for her instinctively, breath catching when Meredith stepped between her legs and pulled her close like she mattered. Like she was the thing keeping Meredith grounded.
“You’re trembling,” Meredith murmured, kissing a spot she’d just lightly bitten.
“So are you,” Addison breathed back.
Meredith’s answer was a soft, choked laugh against her skin. “Because I want you so much it hurts.”
That undid Addison.
Meredith’s hands slid down her thighs, pulling her underwear aside with sure, careful fingers—nothing rushed, everything deliberate. When her mouth brushed the inside of Addison’s knee, Addison’s head tipped back with a low, helpless moan.
“Meredith…” It came out like a plea for more, a plea for closeness, a plea to stay right here.
“Shhh.” Meredith looked up at her from between her thighs, blue eyes dark but impossibly steady. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Addison let out a breathless laugh.“I will never want you to stop."
Meredith exhaled softly, something like relief flickering across her features before she lowered her head. Her mouth moved slowly, reverently, building heat with careful, intentional touches that had Addison trembling, hands sinking into Meredith’s hair not just guiding but holding on.
When Meredith finally touched her where she needed it most, Addison gasped—body arching, breath shattering, the intensity so sharp it bordered on overwhelming.
“Oh—God—Meredith—” Each word shook loose from somewhere deep.
Meredith moaned into her, the vibration shooting through Addison and dragging her higher—closer—until the world narrowed to nothing but heat and breath and the certainty of Meredith’s hands anchoring her.
Her climax hit hard—Addison’s back arching, Meredith’s name falling from her lips in broken pieces. Meredith held her through it, steady, grounding, her hands firm on Addison’s thighs like she was something precious, something she wasn’t letting go.
When Addison finally collapsed forward, breath uneven, Meredith rested her forehead against her thigh, breathing her in—both of them trembling, both of them coming apart and back together in the same moment.
And for the first time all night, Meredith felt the world quiet.
Chapter Text
The office was the same as always — soft lighting, quiet hum of the air conditioner, bookshelves that looked too organised to be accidental. The kind of calm that was meant to make people feel safe. Meredith wasn’t sure it ever had. She sat on the couch, legs tucked under her, staring absently at the wall. Dr. Wyatt sat across from her, a notebook balanced on her knee.
Her voice was calm, careful. “So, Meredith,” she began, “how have you been since our last session?”
Meredith’s lips quirked faintly. “Fine.”
Dr. Wyatt’s pen didn’t move. “Fine,” she echoed softly. “What does that mean for you?”
Meredith looked down at her hands, fingers fiddling with her ID card. “It means… I’m functioning. I’m working. I’m not crying in stairwells, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” Dr. Wyatt said gently. “But thank you for answering anyway.” A small silence bloomed between them — not tense, just waiting. Wyatt leaned forward slightly. “And how have the nights been?”
Meredith’s shoulders tensed before she even realised it. Her fingers stilled, grip tightening. “They’re… fine,” she said again, quieter this time.
Wyatt didn’t push. Not yet. “Are you sleeping?”
Meredith huffed, not quite a laugh. “Define sleeping.”
Wyatt nodded, understanding. “Dreams?”
That word hung in the air like smoke. Meredith’s gaze flicked to the window, unfocused. “Sometimes,” she murmured. “It’s not always the same. Sometimes it’s there again — the place they kept us. The walls, the sounds. Sometimes it’s just… dark silence. That’s worse.” Her voice had gone hoarse without her noticing. She blinked, throat tight.
Wyatt’s tone softened further. “And when you wake?”
Meredith’s jaw flexed. “I check the room. The shadows, the door, sometimes even the closet. I know it’s irrational — I know I’m safe. But my body doesn’t believe me yet.”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “That’s not irrational. That’s memory. It takes time for your body to learn you’ve survived.”
Meredith pressed her palms against her knees, grounding herself in the touch. “Addison says the same thing. She tries not to let me see how scared she gets when I… when I wake up like that.”
Wyatt tilted her head slightly. “Do you talk to her about it?”
Meredith hesitated. “Sometimes. But I don’t want her to worry, she’s been through enough. I don’t want her to feel like she’s still losing me.”
Wyatt considered her for a moment, quiet, the hum of the air conditioner filling the pause. “You don’t have to protect her from your healing, Meredith. The two aren’t the same.”
That struck something deep. Meredith looked away, blinking quickly. After a long moment, she said, barely above a whisper, “It’s hard to believe I’m still here sometimes. That I get to have this — her, the hospital, everything. I feel like I’m waiting for it to be taken back.”
Wyatt’s voice was steady. “That’s the part of you that survived by expecting pain. It kept you alive then. But now, it’s keeping you afraid.” Meredith nodded faintly, the words catching somewhere in her chest. She didn’t answer, not really — just sat there, eyes wet but refusing to let the tears fall.
Dr. Wyatt let the silence sit, letting Meredith breathe into it. Finally, she said softly, “We’ll work on teaching your body that safety isn’t temporary. That love isn’t either.”
Meredith swallowed hard, eyes on the floor. “That sounds… impossible.”
Wyatt smiled gently. “So did surviving.”
Meredith looked up then — just a flicker of eye contact, brief but full of something fragile and real.
Meredith lingered in the doorway of Dr. Wyatt’s office for a long moment after their session ended. The air in the hallway felt heavier somehow — too bright, too open. She took a slow breath and stepped out into the hall. Therapy always left her feeling… unzipped. As if all the pieces she kept so tightly buttoned up had been turned inside out and rearranged, and now she had to walk through the world pretending she wasn’t still bleeding underneath.
“Hey.” The voice came from down the hall — low, steady, and familiar enough to make her chest ease just a fraction. Teddy appeared, hands in her pockets, posture casual but eyes quietly watchful. Her hair was pulled back, her scrubs creased like she’d been there a while — maybe she had. Meredith blinked, surprised, then smiled faintly. “You’re stalking me now?”
Teddy tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You left your jacket in the lounge. Thought I’d save you from trying to freeze your trauma out of your system.”
Meredith huffed, taking the offered jacket. “You’re hilarious.”
“I’m right,” Teddy countered easily, falling into step beside her as they headed down the corridor. “How’d it go?”
Meredith hesitated, tugging her sleeves into place, fingers fidgeting with the zipper. “Fine.”
Teddy shot her a knowing look — gentle, not pushy. “Fine?”
Meredith exhaled slowly. “She asked me what fine means.” A small, humourless smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t have an answer then either.”
They walked in silence for a beat. The glass doors ahead glowed with the last of the afternoon light, the hospital framed in a wash of pale gold that made everything look softer than it really was.
Finally, Meredith said quietly, “She asked about the nights.”
Teddy’s stride slowed. “Yeah?”
Meredith nodded, eyes fixed on the pavement as they stepped outside. “I told her they’re… hard. Some nights I wake up and it’s like I never left that place. I check everything — doors, closets, corners.” Her voice faltered. “It’s stupid.”
Teddy stopped walking. “Meredith.” Meredith turned to her. Teddy’s expression was calm but full — compassion and understanding threaded through every line of it. The kind of understanding that came from someone who’d been there too, who knew what it meant to live with ghosts that refused to stay buried. “It’s not stupid,” Teddy said, her voice firm. “It’s what survival looks like when the war’s over but your body doesn’t believe it yet.”
Something in Meredith broke loose at that — a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding trembled out of her. Her throat bobbed as she nodded once, eyes glinting with tears she didn’t bother to hide. “Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s what she said too.”
Teddy’s mouth curved, faint and fond. “Smart woman.”
“She is.” Meredith’s voice cracked, but she exhaled, a little of the weight slipping from her shoulders. “I hate that I’m still like this.”
“You won’t always be.”
Meredith gave a quiet, sceptical laugh. “You sound very sure of that.”
“I am.” Teddy’s tone softened, but there was steel under it — conviction forged in her own kind of fire. “I’ve seen you fight worse. You’ll find your footing again. You always do.” For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt fragile — shared, but unspoken.
Then Meredith said softly, “Addison’s waiting for me.”
Teddy smiled, warmth flickering behind her eyes. “Then go. Let her hold you for a bit.” A pause. “That’s an order.”
Meredith’s lips lifted into a small, genuine smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she walked away, Teddy watched her go — pride and affection mingling with the faint ache of someone who knew the cost of carrying that kind of pain. When Meredith disappeared around the corner, Teddy slipped her hands back into her pockets and turned in the opposite direction, her own shadows falling quiet for now.
The mid-afternoon sky was just tipping through the clouds, turning the sky gold when Meredith pushed open the roof door. Even though she knew Addison would be there, her heart still stuttered at the sight — that familiar red hair catching in the light, the calm in her stance against the chaos of the hospital below.
Addison turned, a soft smile curving her lips — gentle, steady, the kind that always made Meredith’s ribs ache with warmth. “Hey,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. It was warm, grounding — pure Addison.
Meredith exhaled, something small and weary loosening in her chest. “Hey.”
Addison lifted one of the cups she was holding. “Juju.”
Meredith smiled faintly, accepting it. “You remembered.”
“I always remember.” Addison’s voice was quiet — no teasing, just warmth. The kind that settled into the spaces therapy tended to rip open. For a while, neither of them spoke. The wind was cool, the cocoa warm in Meredith’s hands, thawing the chill that had followed her since the nightmare. The city moved far below, muted and distant. Addison finally broke the silence. “How was Dr. Wyatt?”
Meredith huffed a breath, half a laugh, half a release. “Brutal. Necessary.”
Addison’s lips quirked. “That’s kind of her specialty.”
“Yeah.” Meredith leaned against the railing beside her, their shoulders brushing. “She asks questions I don’t know how to answer. I don’t even know what ‘better’ is supposed to look like anymore.”
Addison turned slightly, studying her. “You’ve been quiet lately — about the dreams. I didn’t want to push, but I hate seeing you suffer. You know I’m here.”
Meredith nodded, eyes tracing the horizon. “I know. I just…” Her voice faltered. “Sometimes I think I’m past it. Then some nights it’s like I’m right back there. The smell, the sounds, the screaming. I keep trying to outrun it, and it keeps catching up.”
Addison didn’t say it’s okay. She just reached out, threading her fingers through Meredith’s. “You don’t have to outrun it. You already survived it.”
Meredith’s throat tightened; her voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate that you have to see me like this. After everything we went through to find our way back—”
Addison cut her off gently. “Hey.” She set her cup down and turned fully toward her. “You don’t owe me fine, Meredith. You owe yourself peace.” She slipped her arms around her waist, drawing her in. “That’s all I want for you. For us.”
Meredith’s eyes glistened as a small, trembling laugh escaped her. “You’re infuriatingly sweet sometimes, you know that?”
“Yeah.” Addison smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. For a long moment, they just breathed — soft, close, the kind of silence that felt like understanding. Meredith leaned forward until their foreheads touched, their breath mingling, warm against the chill.
“I don’t know how to do this without falling apart sometimes,” Meredith whispered.
Addison’s voice was barely audible. “Then fall apart. I’ll catch you.” Meredith’s breath shuddered out of her, something breaking and mending all at once. She leaned in, closing the space between them, and their lips met — slow, tender, the kind of kiss that said I’m still here. The weight in her chest lightened just a little.
When they pulled apart, Meredith murmured, “You know, for a surgeon, hot chocolate might actually be your best course of treatment.”
Addison laughed softly, relief threading through it. “Don’t tell my patients that.”
Meredith smiled, eyes soft and full. “I already did.”
Addison pressed a kiss to her temple, gentle and sure. “Come on, Grey. Let’s get back.”
Meredith nodded, slipping her hand into Addison’s as they walked toward the door — drawing quiet strength from her, still raw but no longer unraveling.
The hospital hummed softly around them as Meredith and Addison walked side by side down the corridor, their steps in quiet sync. The fluorescent lights were bright as ever, but somehow the world felt gentler — like the edges had finally softened a little.
They talked in low voices — small things, easy things. Addison was saying something about an interesting article she’d read, her hands moving as she spoke. Meredith just listened, a faint smile ghosting across her lips. For the first time in days, she felt... lighter.
They rounded the corner and spotted Lexie at the nurses’ station, hunched over a chart. Addison glanced at her watch and sighed softly. “I’ve got a patient consult in five,” she said, turning to Meredith. “You going to be okay?”
Meredith nodded, her expression fond. “I’m good, go be amazing.”
Addison leaned in, brushed a kiss against her lips — quick, familiar, full of quiet affection. “Always.”
Meredith watched her go, the flash of red hair vanishing around the corner. The smile lingered even after she was gone. Then she turned to Lexie, her tone softening. “Hey. You okay?”
Lexie looked up, startled, then forced a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I just…its about my dad,” She saw the look on Meredith’s face and backtracked. "Don’t worry, it’s all good.”
Meredith froze for half a second — that old, sharp ache settling in her chest before she smothered it. “Lexie…” she started, but words failed her. There was nothing new to say — not about Thatcher, not about that kind of disappointment.
Lexie shrugged helplessly. “I know he’s not your dad, but he’s my dad…and Susan would want—” She stopped herself, the sentence collapsing under its own weight.
Meredith sighed, her expression softening with something close to empathy. “You can’t fix him,” she said quietly. “We’ve both tried.”
Lexie nodded, blinking quickly. “I know. I just hate feeling useless.”
Meredith hesitated, then reached for something she could offer. “I’ve got a surgery with Bailey in an hour. You want to scrub in?”
Lexie looked up, a faint, grateful smile breaking through the sadness. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Meredith said. “Might help take your mind off things.”
Lexie nodded again, the corner of her mouth lifting a little more. “Thanks, Meredith.”
Meredith gave a small, lopsided smile. “Don’t thank me yet, you still have to impress Bailey.” Lexie’s laugh was quiet but real, and as Meredith turned back down the hall, she felt the weight of the day settle into something manageable — not gone, but not unbearable either.
The OR lights were sharp and bright, washing the room in sterile white. The steady rhythm of monitors filled the silence as Bailey adjusted her mask and gave a short nod toward the table. “Alright, Dr. Grey,” she said — her tone carefully neutral, but her eyes held quiet encouragement. “Your patient. Let’s get started.”
Lexie nodded once, exhaling through her nose. Her hands were steady as she made her first incision, though her shoulders were tense, every motion just a touch too careful. Meredith stood just behind her, scrubbed in but not gloved or gowned, happy to let Lexie take the reins. She was close enough for her presence to steady rather than hover — voice low, even. “Breathe, Lexie. You’ve got this. Don’t rush.”
Lexie let out a shaky laugh. “I’m trying. It’s just… you and Bailey both watching me feels like doing surgery with God and Jesus looking over my shoulder.”
Bailey didn’t look up. “Which one of us is God?”
Meredith smiled behind her mask. “Obviously you.”
“Damn right.” Bailey moved slightly to get a better angle. “Retractor.”
Lexie accepted it from the scrub nurse, her fingers moving with more confidence now. Meredith gave a small approving nod. “Good. Follow that plane — let it open itself.” Bailey glanced at Meredith for a moment, noting the way she hung back. It was subtle, but telling. Meredith wasn’t trying to be a star this time; she was the guide. It made something soften in Bailey’s chest. Growth, she thought. Finally.
“So,” Bailey said casually, eyes still on the field, “I heard congratulations are in order.”
Lexie blinked, confused. “For me?”
Bailey snorted. “Please. I meant your sister. Heard she went and proposed.”
Meredith looked sheepish, crossing her arms tighttly. “There may have been… a ring involved, yes.”
Bailey chuckled. “About damn time, Grey. How do you feel?”
Meredith’s lips curved softly under the mask. “Happy. We both are. Still getting used to saying ‘fiancée,’ though.”
“Mm.” Bailey’s tone was approving, gentle even. “Nice to see her smiling again. After the year she’s had… you’ve done good, Meredith. It’s good to have you back. Even if you are a pain in my ass at times.”
That earned an audible laugh from Lexie. Meredith’s eyes glinted with warmth. “High praise, coming from you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Bailey warned, though her mouth twitched in a smile. “Now focus, both of you. We’re still in an open cavity.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lexie said, her voice steadier now.
Bailey checked her progress, then gave an approving hum. “You’re doing fine, Dr. Grey. Keep that up and maybe your sister here’ll be out of a job.”
Lexie grinned. “Not a chance. She’s too bossy to retire.”
Meredith arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Bailey snorted. “She’s not wrong.”
The tension in the room softened — the rhythm of voices and instruments blending into something easy. Lexie adjusted her retractor again, movements sure, deliberate now.
“Clamp,” she said confidently.
Meredith stepped in just enough to see her angle. “Perfect. Right there. You’re exactly where you should be.”
Bailey nodded, her tone low but proud. “Nice work, Grey.” Minutes passed — methodical, focused, filled with the quiet hum of purpose. When the last suture was tied, Lexie stepped back, a faint tremor of adrenaline in her hands.
Bailey gave a small approving nod. “Beautiful work, Dr. Grey.”
Lexie’s eyes lit up. “Thank you.”
Meredith smiled, pride softening her features. “Told you, you could do it.”
Lexie looked at her, voice low but full. “Thanks for letting me.”
“No thanks needed” Meredith said, “This is why we’re here.”
Bailey caught the look between them and shook her head fondly. “Look at you,” she said to Meredith. “Attending, mentor and now a fiancée. Next thing I know, you’ll be wearing glasses and giving out life advice.”
Meredith huffed a quiet laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Bailey’s smile softened, almost imperceptibly. “You’ve come a long way, Meredith. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Meredith blinked, caught off guard. Bailey saw her shock and barked out a laugh, “Don’t get soft on me, Grey.”
As Bailey and Lexie moved to close, Meredith lingered a moment longer, the hum of the OR fading around her. She felt the quiet kind of fullness that comes when things are… right. Lexie had done beautifully, Bailey was proud and she had proposed to the love of her life. For once, she didn’t feel like she was standing in Ellis Grey’s shadow, she was making waves of her own.
The OR doors swung shut behind Meredith with a soft hiss. She pulled off her cap, ran a hand through her hair, and took a steadying breath — the kind that usually signalled she was ready to dive into another case or a cup of bad hospital coffee.
“Don’t tell me you’re here to make sure I’m still functional,” she said before she even looked up.
Teddy was leaning against the wall, arms folded, wearing that crooked, knowing smile. “What if I am?”
Meredith smirked faintly. “Then you wasted a trip. I’m fine.”
Teddy gave a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s what everyone who’s not fine says. But no — actually, I was… hoping for some advice.”
That earned her a curious glance. “From me? This can’t be good.”
Teddy’s mouth quirked, sheepish. “It’s about Cristina.”
Meredith’s brow arched instantly. “Of course it is.”
Teddy sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Since I moved back to my apartment, she’s been—well, we’ve been—”
“Basically living together,” Meredith supplied, knowingly.
Teddy gave her a look, caught between embarrassment and amusement. “Yeah.”
“I think I know where this is going” Meredith said lightly, crossing her arms. “You know she’s probably still telling people you two are still figuring things out.’”
Teddy huffed a laugh despite herself. “Probably. But I was thinking of asking her to move in. Officially. I just…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t want to freak her out.”
Meredith tilted her head, her expression softening. “She likes to keep an escape hatch.”
“Exactly,” Teddy murmured, relieved that Meredith understood. “I know what happened the last time she moved in with someone, it didn’t exactly end well. I don’t want her to feel trapped.”
For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the distant hum of the hospital filling the space between them. Meredith leaned back against the wall beside her. “She loves you, you know.”
Teddy looked up, startled by the certainty in her tone. “She’s never said it.”
“Does she need too?” Meredith asked simply. “I can see it. The way she looks at you, the way she’s… softer. Still terrifying, but softer.”
Teddy smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened a little. “I don’t want to change her. I don’t want her to feel like she has to be anything but exactly who she is. I just… want to start building something real. Piece by piece.”
Meredith nodded, understanding threading through her voice. “Then do that. Build it slow. Let her feel like she’s choosing it, not being pulled into it.”
Teddy exhaled, a small, grateful smile curving her lips. “You’re good at this.”
Meredith gave a half-shrug. “Addison and I nearly set each other on fire before we figured out how to live together, how to even be together again. You learn things.”
Teddy laughed softly, shaking her head. “Somehow that’s both comforting and terrifying.”
Meredith’s smile turned wry. “That’s love. Especially with a Grey or a Yang.”
The two women shared a quiet laugh — one surgeon who’d fought her way back to peace, and another trying to find her own version of it. Teddy straightened, brushing imaginary lint from her scrubs. “Alright, I’ll try the slow approach.”
“Smart,” Meredith said. “Start with a toothbrush. Work your way up to a dresser drawer.”
Teddy grinned as she stepped away. “You should really write a book.”
Meredith smirked. “Yeah. How to Survive Loving a Surgeon Who Thinks Feelings Are Optional. Bestseller, I’m sure.”
Teddy laughed as she walked off down the hall, and Meredith watched her go — the smile lingering, but her expression softening as she turned back toward the OR wing. Really, she thought, Teddy was right. Love wasn’t about fixing or saving. It was about building, brick by fragile brick — and hoping the foundation held.
Addison’s shoulders sagged the moment she stepped through the door that night. The weight of the day, the long consults, the conversations she hadn’t wanted to have pressed down on her chest. From the kitchen came the warm, familiar sound of Meredith’s laughter, mingling with Lexie’s and Jo’s voices. For once, she didn’t have the energy to join in. She slipped quietly up the stairs, careful not to announce her arrival. At the top, she nearly collided with Alex rounding the corner.
“Addison?” he raised an eyebrow, concern flickering in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, voice tighter than she realised. “Just… tell Meredith I’m heading to bed, okay?”
Alex gave a small nod, wordless, and went downstairs. Addison exhaled, feeling the tension in her shoulders tighten and loosen in one uneven rhythm. She opened the bedroom door, and the faint smell of Meredith’s perfume greeted her. She didn’t stop until she collapsed onto the bed, letting herself fall into the quiet darkness as the events of the day clawed into her mind
Addison sat across from the couple, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The sterile smell of the exam room pressed in on her, along with the weight of what she had to say. Their smiles were hopeful, the kind she’d wanted to protect, but she knew there was no way around the truth.
“I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice soft, trembling slightly. “The tests show that your baby has Osteogenesis Imperfecta type II.”
The mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock at her tone, he father’s jaw tightened, fingers knotted together as if holding himself in place.
“Wait… what does that mean?” the mother whispered, voice breaking.
“ It’s… a congenital condition, a severe form – “
“Can anything… can anything be done?”
Addison’s throat ached, “Unfortunately, it’s incompatible with life outside the womb. I’m very sorry.” She had memorised the right words, the delicate phrasing, but none of it softened the truth. “No medical interventions can change the outcome. We can manage the pregnancy to keep you comfortable, and provide support… but the prognosis is fatal. I’m so sorry.”
The mother sobbed quietly, the sound cutting through Addison’s chest. The husband reached for his wife’s hand, but she flinched, as if afraid to touch anyone else, the rawness of the news still too much. Addison wanted to ease the despair somehow, but she had to stay professional, had to be the one keeping control. She left the room quietly, watching their grief heavy in their movements and they embraced the truth of their situation. She had been strong for them, but inside, she felt hollow, shattered in pieces she didn’t know how to put back together.
Now, the weight of it all landed on her chest like a physical thing she couldn’t move. She hadn’t even noticed the tears on her cheeks until there was a soft hand wiping them away.
“Addison,” Meredith’s voice was low, gentle, carrying across the darkness she’d fall into. “Hey.” Addison startled, blinking up through wet lashes as she struggled to sit up. Meredith knelt beside her, eyes scanning her face, taking in the traces of grief and exhaustion. “Shhh… it’s okay,” she whispered.
“I… I just…” Addison’s voice broke, and she shook her head. “It’s just been a lot today.”
Meredith leaned closer, brushing their foreheads together. “I know, baby. I know.”
Addison let herself lean into Meredith’s warmth, letting the unspoken weight of the day fall away, at least for a moment. They sat in silence, hearts close, breathing together, the world outside their bedroom door forgotten. “Come on,” Meredith said finally, her tone soft but firm. She tugged gently and Addison allowed herself to be led to the shower, the comforting presence of Meredith anchoring her.
The hot water streamed down Addison’s back, a brief comfort as it washed over her skin. She leaned against the wall, letting herself feel the tension in her shoulders ease slightly, but the ache from the day’s consult lingered stubbornly in her chest. Meredith’s presence was steady beside her, warm arms wrapping around her arms, grounding Addison in the moment.
“You did everything you could,” Meredith whispered, voice low against the steam, “that’s all anyone could ask of you.”
Addison pressed her forehead into Meredith’s shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s just… I can’t stop seeing their faces. The hope, the shock… it’s like I failed them.”
“You didn’t fail them, baby,” Meredith said softly, tilting Addison’s chin so their eyes met. “You were honest. You were kind. You were exactly what they needed, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.”
Addison blinked through the tears forming again. “I just… I hate how much this gets to me. I hate how much it hurts.”
Meredith brushed a wet strand of hair from Addison’s face, fingers gentle against her cheek. “It hurts because you care. That’s not weakness, Addison. That’s the part of you that makes you incredible. And it’s okay to let it hurt”
Addison leaned into the touch, trembling, letting herself be vulnerable for the first time that day. “I don’t even know how to… not carry it all.”
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Meredith murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Addison’s temple. “Let me help. Let me carry it with you, like you do for me.”
Addison exhaled, letting the water wash over her, over them, feeling the weight ease just enough to breathe. She clung to Meredith like she was the anchor she hadn’t known she’d needed. For the first time that night, the hollow ache didn’t feel quite so empty. Addison shivered as Meredith rinsed her hair, the water cascading over her shoulders. She pressed her forehead against Meredith’s briefly, letting herself melt into the steady warmth.
“You know,” Meredith murmured, brushing her fingers through Addison’s damp hair, “I heard some of the interns talking today. They were basically worshipping you. Something about your technique, your bedside manner… the word ‘legendary’ got thrown around more than once.”
Addison pulled back and let out a humourless laugh that quickly softened. “Legendary, huh? So… I should be expecting a cape in my locker?”
Meredith’s eyes glinted gently as she leaned closer. “I already gave you a ring… you really think a cape will top that?” Her fingers threaded through Addison’s wet strands, tugging gently, and Addison shivered, letting out a soft groan, exasperated and utterly undone at the same time.
“You’re relentless ,” Addison whispered, pressing closer, feeling the warmth radiating from Meredith's body.
“Only with you,” Meredith said, lips brushing Addison’s ear as she leaned even closer.
Addison’s knees weakened, a shiver running down her spine, half from the water, half from Meredith’s words. “You know, you really shouldn’t be allowed to be this perfect,” she muttered, voice quivering.
“Good thing I don’t follow rules,” Meredith replied, tilting her head, lips grazing Addison’s neck as her hands slid down her back in a comforting manner.
Addison let herself relax fully, leaning into the warmth, the laughter, the gentle teasing. The ache of the day still lingered, but in Meredith’s embrace, it was bearable—almost laughable, almost safe.
“Promise me something?” Addison murmured, her fingers wandering warm skin.
“What?”
“Don’t ever stop this,” she whispered, voice soft but urgent, “don’t ever stop reminding me we’re alive.”
Meredith pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, wrapping her arms tighter around Addison. “Never. Not ever. I’ve got you.”
Chapter Text
Soft sunlight spilled through the half-open curtains, warm and golden against tangled sheets. Addison stirred slowly, a lazy smile curving her lips as she felt the brush of soft lips at her neck. Meredith’s voice came next, low and amused. “Morning.”
Addison hummed, eyes still closed. “Mm, that’s a good way to wake up.”
Meredith pressed another kiss just beneath her ear. “Better than coffee?”
“Dangerously close,” Addison murmured, turning slightly so she could see her — eyes hazy with sleep, red hair messy across the pillow. “You’re awake early.”
Meredith smiled softly, brushing a thumb over Addison’s jaw. “Couldn’t stay asleep.”
Addison arched an eyebrow. “So your solution was to wake me up?”
Meredith pretended to think. “Yes. Because now you’re awake and I get to do this—” she leaned in, kissed her properly, slow and deep, one hand sliding into Addison’s hair pulling her impossibly close. When they broke apart, Addison exhaled softly, smiling against her mouth.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know,” Meredith said, smug but soft, tucking a strand of hair behind Addison’s ear. Then quieter, “Sleep okay?” Addison’s eyes flicked away for a moment — she didn’t need to ask what Meredith meant. The hard case from the day before still lingered, the one that had cracked her open enough to find herself crying under hot water with Meredith holding her.
“Yeah,” Addison said finally, voice low. “Thanks to you.”
Meredith smirked then gently pressed her forehead to hers. “That’s what I’m here for.” They lay there for a while — bodies pressed together, limbs tangled, breathing in sync — until Addison sighed contentedly.
“You have the day off, right?”
“Until tonight,” Meredith said, tracing idle patterns along Addison’s arm. “I’ve got the overnight shift, I think Teddy does too.”
“Lucky Teddy.”
“Jealous?” Meredith teased.
“Only if you flirt with her.”
“I don’t flirt with Teddy.”
Addison smirked. “You absolutely do.”
Meredith grinned against her shoulder. “I only mean it with you.” Addison laughed softly, the sound muffled as Meredith kissed the corner of her mouth again. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her as Meredith’s hands started wondering gently over her bare skin. After a beat, Meredith sat up suddenly, hair mussed, eyes bright with something impulsive. “Let’s go out.”
Addison blinked. “Out? Like—outside?”
“Yes, Addison, outside.” Meredith laughed. “We never get a day like this — no pages, no alarms, no interns. Let’s go do something normal. The zoo, the park, I don’t care. Just… us.”
Addison propped herself up on her elbow, watching her — this strange mix of surgeon and softness, chaos and calm. “You want to go to the zoo?”
Meredith shrugged, smiling. “You love animals. I love you. It makes sense.”
Addison shook her head, amused. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Meredith leaned back down to kiss her again, grinning. “Then it’s settled. Zoo day.”
Addison laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days. “You know, Grey, for someone who claims to hate people, you make a surprisingly good girlfriend.”
Meredith smirked. “Fiancée.”
That earned her another kiss — slow and warm, full of the easy affection that came from surviving the storm and finding something whole on the other side.
The day was bright and crisp, the kind that smelled faintly of rain and earth. Families wandered between enclosures, children laughing, a stroller squeaking in the distance. It was so ordinary it almost felt surreal — which, Meredith thought, was exactly what made it perfect. Addison walked beside her, hand loosely linked in hers, sunglasses perched in her hair. She looked — and Meredith didn’t have a better word for it — flawless. “This was a good idea,” Addison said, glancing over, her voice soft but sincere.
Meredith smiled, watching a little boy run past them holding a map upside down. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not,” Addison teased, bumping her shoulder lightly. “It’s just… you usually spend your days off organising your sock drawer or trying to perform surgery on the houseplants.”
“They were dying!” Meredith protested.
“They were succulents.”
Meredith laughed, shaking her head. “They looked thirsty.”
Addison’s grin turned indulgent. “Of course they did.”
They strolled in companionable silence for a while, stopping at the giraffe enclosure. Meredith leaned her elbows on the railing, eyes following the slow, graceful movements of the animals. “They look like they move in slow motion.”
Addison hummed beside her, thoughtful. “Do you think they get dizzy? Lack of blood flow to the head?”
Meredith shot her a look, amused. “You’re such a doctor sometimes.”
Addison smirked. “Takes one to know one.” They wandered on — through the aviary, past the reptile house (which Addison refused to enter), until a sign ahead caught her attention. “Oh my god,” Addison said suddenly, her voice lighting up. “The otters!”
Meredith blinked, startled by the enthusiasm. “What?”
“The otters, Meredith!” Addison grabbed her hand and practically dragged her toward the enclosure. “Oh! Look at them!” There they were — a small family of otters tumbling over one another, chittering and splashing in the water. Addison leaned forward against the railing, utterly charmed, eyes sparkling. “They hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart,” Addison said softly, like she was sharing something sacred.
Meredith couldn’t stop smiling — not at the otters, but at her. The way her voice softened, the way the sunlight caught the copper in her hair, the way she looked so unguardedly joyful it made Meredith’s chest ache. “You’re ridiculously adorable,” Meredith murmured fondly.
Addison didn’t look away from the otters. “You love that about me.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Meredith said, her voice warm.
Addison turned, arching a brow. “Unfortunately?”
Meredith smirked. “You make it very hard to maintain my brooding mystique.”
Addison laughed — a soft, rich sound that drew the attention of a nearby kid, who giggled too without knowing why. She reached out, slipping her hand into Meredith’s again. “You can be brooding later. Right now, you’re holding hands with your fiancée at the otter exhibit, so deal with it.”
Meredith squeezed her hand gently. “Fine. But only because they’re cute.”
“They are cute,” Addison said, still watching them with an expression that was equal parts delight and tenderness. Then, quieter, “It’s nice, isn’t it? Doing something normal.”
Meredith’s smile softened. “Yeah. It is.”
They found a bench near a patch of trees, eating ice cream from little paper cups, Addison stealing spoonfuls of Meredith’s when she wasn’t looking. The conversation drifted — about nothing and everything. “So,” Addison said eventually, “do you think we’ll ever have one of those completely drama-free years?”
Meredith looked thoughtful for a moment, then deadpanned, “No. Absolutely not.”
Addison laughed, leaning into her. “Fair. I’d probably get bored anyway.”
“See? That’s why we work,” Meredith said, nudging her knee. “You like chaos. I attract it.”
“You really do,” Addison murmured, brushing her thumb along Meredith’s wrist. “You also survive it.”
Meredith met her gaze then — really met it — the air between them quiet and warm. “You make it easier too.” For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Addison’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, kissing her — slow and tender, like a promise. When they finally pulled apart, Meredith rested her forehead against Addison’s. “You know,” she murmured, “you kind of remind me of the otters.”
Addison blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You hold on,” Meredith said simply. “Even when things get rough. You don’t let go.”
Addison smiled, eyes bright. “You’d better not try to drift then, Grey.”
“I won’t,” Meredith whispered. “Not anymore.”
They sat there for a long time —just normal people for once — surrounded by sunlight and laughter and the sound of water nearby. For a day, the world was soft again.
The house was quiet in that warm, drowsy way it always was after a long, sunlit day. The faint smell of sunscreen still clung to their skin, the echo of laughter from the zoo lingering like something fragile and golden. Addison stood in the kitchen, hair pulled up, a glass of water in her hand. She was still smiling faintly from earlier —from Meredith’s rare, unguarded laughter — when she noticed the edge of something crisp and white poking out from the top of the bin near the counter.
She frowned, set her glass down, and tugged the envelope free. It was creased, hastily discarded — an official letterhead from the Department of Defence. Her eyes skimmed the first few lines, and her stomach went tight.
“We are honoured to inform you that you have been selected to receive the Bronze Star for meritorious service and acts of heroism in a combat zone.”
Addison’s breath caught softly. She read it again. The weight of it — what it meant — sank in slowly and she was left wondering why Meredith hadn’t mentioned it. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Addison folded the letter gently, too carefully for something that had been in the trash. Meredith appeared in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, pulling on her jacket. She looked calm, centred — happy.
“Hey,” Addison said softly, holding up the paper. “What’s this?”
Meredith froze halfway across the room. Her eyes flicked from Addison’s face to the letter in her hand, then back again. “It’s nothing.”
“Meredith.” Addison’s tone was gentle, coaxing. “It’s from the Army. You— you’re getting honoured for what you did over there.”
Meredith’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I threw that out.”
Addison blinked. “Why?”
Meredith grabbed her bag, her movements suddenly brisk. “Because I don’t want it.”
“Meredith—”
“I don’t want it, Addie.” Meredith’s voice cracked, more from the effort of restraint than anger. “I didn’t do anything heroic. I just… did what I had to do to survive. That’s not something I need a medal for.”
Addison took a step closer, her voice soft. “It’s not just about survival, Mer. You saved people. You—”
Meredith shook her head, cutting her off. “I also watched people die. People I couldn’t save. They don’t get letters. They don’t get medals, they don’t get to come home.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. The afternoon light slanted through the kitchen window, catching in Addison’s hair, glinting off the folded paper between her fingers.
“But you earned this,” Addison said quietly.
Meredith’s eyes softened just slightly. “Maybe. But that part of me… it doesn’t belong here. Not anymore.”
Addison’s chest tightened. She wanted to reach out, to pull Meredith in, to tell her she didn’t have to carry it alone. But Meredith was already slipping into her shoes, the armour of work settling around her. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Meredith said gently, walking toward her. She reached out, brushing a thumb over Addison’s cheek. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re worried about me.”
Addison’s eyes met hers. “Maybe I am.”
Meredith’s smile was faint — tired, but tender. “I love you.” She leaned in, kissed her softly — the kind of kiss that said thank you and I’m sorry at once. Then she was gone — bag slung over her shoulder, door closing behind her with a muted click.
Addison stood there for a long moment, the silence settling heavy around her. She looked down at the letter again, the crease marks still visible where Meredith had tried to throw it away. With a sigh, she smoothed it out as best she could and placed it neatly on the counter — not in the bin.
The ER was quieter than usual, the hum of machines and the low murmur of voices filling the space like white noise. A few interns huddled around a gurney, fumbling through a consult — a young teenage boy with a broken wrist, his mother hovering nearby, full of concern and questions they didn’t quite know how to answer.
Meredith lingered just beyond them, hands in her pockets, half-watching. Her scrubs were rumpled from a busy evening, hair pulled back in a loose bun. Her eyes fixed on the scene before her but clearly somewhere else. Her posture was still — too still — the kind that came from holding something in.
Owen stood beside the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the interns and Meredith. It took him all of thirty seconds to recognise that look — the one that meant she was here but not really here. “Slow night,” he said finally, voice casual, breaking the silence.
Meredith didn’t respond right away. Her gaze stayed on the interns, but her mind was clearly somewhere else. “Feels weird,” Owen continued, nodding toward the group. “Used to be nights like this meant a mass casualty was about to roll in. Guess part of me still waits for it.” That earned the faintest flicker of a glance from her — not a smile, exactly, but an acknowledgement.
He tilted his head. “You hovering because you don’t trust the interns or because you can’t stand being alone right now?”
“Maybe both,” she said, quiet but wry.
Owen smirked. “Fair. Though this bunch might surprise you. Torres’ kid diagnosed a hairline fracture on a five-year-old before the attending even walked in today.”
Meredith hummed in response, her voice far away. “Good for them.”
Owen studied her for a beat. Then, deliberately, he said, “You know, Teddy told me you and Addison got engaged.”
That got her attention. Her head turned, brow lifting slightly, “Did she now.”
Owen chuckled. “She’s proud of you. We all are.” Meredith didn’t answer. Her expression softened — not quite defensive, not quite open. Just quiet. “Addison looks happy too,” Owen added after a moment. “I don’t think I’ve seen her smile like that in….well, since before.”
That drew a small, genuine smile from Meredith. “Yeah. She’s… she’s good.”
He nodded. “And you?”
Meredith rolled her eyes, “I’m fine.”
“Fine.” He repeated the word like it was a diagnosis he didn’t buy. “You’ve been fine since you came back. But fine’s not really you, Grey.”
She sighed softly. “You hanging around here just to psychoanalyse me?”
He smiled. “Nah. I’m just bored.” That earned a real smile, faint but genuine. She shook her head, then went quiet again, the air between them thick with something unspoken.
After a long moment, she said quietly, “I got a letter the other day.” She exhaled, gaze dropping to the floor. For a while, the only sound between them was the quiet bustle of the pit. Owen didn’t move, didn’t press — just waited. “From the Army,” she went on, voice low. “They want to give me a medal”
Owen nodded slowly. “You deserve it.”
“I don't.”
He blinked, studying her. “Why not?”
Meredith’s voice came low, almost tired. “I don’t want to stand in a room full of people clapping for something they don’t understand. They don’t know what it was like. What it cost.”
Owen’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You know, I used to feel that way. When I got my commendation. I didn’t go either. Just left it in a box somewhere.”
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“Because medals don’t bring anyone back.” He looked at her, understanding in his eyes. “But after a while, I realised… they’re not only about us. They’re for the people who need to believe something good came out of it. The ones we saved, the ones who sent us there, the ones who never came home.”
Meredith swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can look at it that way yet.”
Owen nodded. “You don’t have to. Not yet.”
They stood together in silence. The boy on the gurney laughed suddenly as one of the interns handed him a bright blue cast, his mother’s relief washing over her face. Something about the sound — normal, light, ordinary — seemed to pull Meredith back into the present.
Owen followed her gaze, then said quietly, “It’s not the desert. No dust, no gunfire, just a broken wrist and a quiet night.”
“Yeah,” Meredith said softly. “It’s still strange sometimes.”
“Strange,” Owen agreed, then after a pause, “but not bad.”
A long breath slipped from her chest, something easing just slightly. “No,” she said. “Not bad.”
Meredith’s footsteps echoed as she made her way down the paediatric corridor, her eyes tired but restless. She found Alex in one of the rooms, sitting forward in a chair, his gaze fixed on the small patient sleeping in the bed. The monitors pulsed softly in steady rhythm. Meredith leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “You know most people sleep during night shifts.”
Alex didn’t look up. “Yeah, well, most people aren’t waiting to see if a six-year-old’s lungs remember how to work on their own.”
Meredith’s expression softened as she stepped inside. “How’s he doing?”
Alex sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Holding steady. For now. It’s bacterial pneumonia that went septic. Arizona’s throwing everything we’ve got at it, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “He’s a tough kid. The kind that deserves a miracle.”
Meredith’s eyes lingered on the child — pale, too small against the bed. “Those are the ones that always get to you,” she murmured.
Alex gave a half-smile. “Yeah. Guess I’ve got a type.” They stayed in silence for a few moments — the kind of quiet that existed only between people who’d been through too much together. Then Alex glanced sideways. “You hovering because you can’t sleep or because you’re trying to avoid something? Cause you look like crap.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
“Seriously,” he continued, “you’ve got that haunted ‘I’m fine’ face. Which, for you, usually means you’re two seconds away from doing something self-destructive or emotionally avoidant. Sometimes both.”
Meredith huffed out a breath, half a laugh. “Do you rehearse these speeches?”
“Only for you.”
Meredith smirked faintly. “You really are getting good at this psychology thing.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said, slouching back in the chair.
There was a beat of quiet before she said softly, “I threw something away today and Addison found it.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Not a bill, I’m guessing.”
“From the Army,” she said. “They want to give me an award.” Meredith’s voice was flat — not angry, not proud. Just… detached. He let out a low whistle. “I threw it out,” she said simply.
That made him glance at her. “You threw it out?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms tighter.
Alex leaned back in his chair, “Mer…That’s… a big deal.”
“Not to me,” she murmured.
He studied her for a moment, then said, “Yeah, it is. You just don’t want it to be.”
Meredith’s jaw tightened, her voice low. “I don’t want a ceremony, or a medal for something that nearly broke me. I just want to forget it.”
Alex nodded slowly, not arguing. “Yeah. I get that.” He glanced at the kid, who stirred a little but didn’t wake. “But sometimes you don’t get to decide what people remember you for. You just live with it. Figure out how to make it mean something that doesn’t hurt.”
Meredith tilted her head, studying him. “Since when are you this emotionally mature?”
“Since they put me in charge of other people,” he said, smirking faintly. “Turns out you can’t yell at interns about empathy if you don’t have any.”
That earned a quiet laugh from her, the tension in her shoulders easing. Finally, she let out a breath, softer now. “Addison doesn’t get it, not really. I can’t stand the idea of standing in a room full of people congratulating me for something that still makes my hands shake.”
Alex nodded, his voice gentler. “Yeah.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “You know, Addison means well. She doesn’t push unless it’s worth it.”
“She’s worried,” Meredith admitted quietly. “And I hate that I keep giving her reasons to be.”
“That’s love,” he said simply. “It’s messy and annoying and makes you want to throw things sometimes. But she knew what she was signing up for.”
That drew a faint smirk from Meredith. “You make it sound romantic.”
Alex shrugged. “What, me? I’m the most romantic guy you know.”
Meredith snorted softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “That’s a low bar, Karev.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but it’s still a bar.” She laughed, a low, tired sound that felt a little lighter than before. Then she looked at the kid again — at the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet miracle of it. Alex followed her gaze. “You know, sometimes it’s not about saving everyone. Sometimes it’s just sticking around long enough to remind them they’re not alone.”
Meredith looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “You’re a good doctor, Alex.”
He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t go getting sentimental on me now.”
“Too late.” Silence stretched again — comfortable this time. The boy on the bed stirred, coughed once, then settled. The monitors beeped steady and sure. Alex finally leaned back, stretching. “You should try to get some sleep. You look wrecked.”
“Yeah.”
“Find an on-call room before you start lecturing the residents in your sleep,” he smirked.
She gave him a look but didn’t argue. “You staying here all night?”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes returning to the glass. “Can’t leave him. Not yet.”
Meredith lingered a moment longer, then nodded. “Page if you need anything.”
“Hey, Mer?” he called softly as she reached the door. She glanced back. “You don’t have to want the medal. But don’t throw away proof you made it out.” Meredith met his gaze — something flickering in hers that looked almost like gratitude — then nodded once and slipped into the hall.
The on-call room was dim, the hum the hospital muffled through the walls. Meredith sat on the edge of the narrow bed staring at her hands. The silence was loud — the kind that left too much room for thought. She lay back finally, one arm draped over her eyes, and let out a slow, shaky breath. Addison’s voice echoed faintly in her memory — You don’t have to outrun it. You already survived it. Her throat worked as she whispered into the dark, “Yeah. Still trying to believe that.”
Meredith’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion finally winning — her mind drifting somewhere between the past and the fragile peace she was still learning to trust.
It’s dark. Not the kind of dark that sleeps — the kind that swallows. The air is cold and stale, thick with the smell of metal and dust. Meredith sits on the floor of a small cell, her knees drawn up, her fingers worrying at the edge of her sleeve. Through a set of rusted bars, the moon hangs low — pale and impossibly far away.
She stares at it until her throat tightens. Addison. The thought comes unbidden, quiet, aching. Maybe somewhere, Addison had looked at the same moon. Maybe she was thinking of her. Maybe she still believed she was alive. Meredith swallows hard, forcing the tremor from her hands. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here — the clock stopped mattering when her mind started measuring time in heartbeats and the sound of footsteps outside the door.
A faint rustle breaks the silence. She tenses. “Easy,” comes a voice, low and hoarse. Parker. His face is thin in the half-light, a faint line of blood dried at his temple and his uniform is as ruined as hers feels. He moves closer, sitting beside her on the cold floor. “Couldn’t sleep?” he whispers.
Meredith shakes her head slightly. “Don’t think my body remembers how.”
He huffs a soft, humourless laugh. “You and me both.”
For a long time, they just sit there, shoulder to shoulder in the dark. Outside, the night hums — an occasional murmur, a clang of metal, the far-off bark of orders in a language they’ve barely begun to understand. Parker speaks again, quieter this time. “You thinking about home?”
Meredith’s voice catches. “Every second.”
He studies her for a moment, then nods. “Think they're waiting for us?”
Her throat tightens. “I hope so.” Her breath stutters. “I have to get back to her.”
Parker smiles faintly, something wistful behind it. “She must be hell of a person if you’re still fighting like this.”
Meredith lets out a shaky laugh. “She’s… everything that’s soft in me. Everything I keep trying to protect.”
Silence stretches again. Parker shifts, leaning back against the wall. “You’ll see her again,” he murmurs.
She turns to him, searching his face for certainty he can’t possibly have. “Promise?”
He gives her a tired, crooked smile. “Promise. We're getting out of here Grey.”
Her chest tightens. Something in her breaks quietly — the kind of exhaustion that comes when hope hurts more than despair. She leans into him, head resting against his shoulder, eyes slipping shut. Parker stays still, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get some rest, Meredith. Just for a bit.”
She almost does. Her breathing steadies. The room begins to blur — and then—
The world erupts.
A violent, concussive blast rips through the walls — dust, light, noise. Meredith is thrown sideways, Parker’s shout swallowed by the explosion. The ceiling cracks, heat and smoke pouring through.
Her ears ring. She can’t see, can’t breathe. The moon vanishes.
Meredith wakes with a gasp — the kind that tears from the gut. Her body jerks upright, heart hammering. Disoriented, she loses her balance and tumbles off the side of the bed, hitting the floor hard. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts. She presses a shaking hand to her chest, trying to steady herself. Sweat slicks her neck, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her eyes dart to the small window — the night sky just visible beyond it. The same moon hangs there, silver and distant.
Meredith swallows, her voice barely a whisper. “Still here.”
She stays on the floor for a long moment, knees drawn close, waiting for her heartbeat to remember where it is. Outside the door, the hospital hums softly — life, steady and unrelenting — and Meredith finally exhales, grounding herself in it.
The sliding doors burst open, and a couple rushes through the hall — a pregnant woman clutching her swollen belly, her husband running alongside, panic written all over his face. “She’s pregnant!” he’s shouting. “She said the baby stopped moving—she’s in pain—please!”
Owen moves fast, barking orders as the trauma nurses swarm. “Get her on monitors now! Vitals, fetal heart tones— Wilson, what’ve we got?”
Jo glances at the monitor, brow furrowing. “Blood pressure’s dropping, fetal heart rate’s decelerating.”
Owen’s voice sharpens. “Who’s the OB attending on call?”
Jo checks the board. “Montgomery.”
“Page her—now.”
20 MINUTES LATER
The sound of Addison’s voice through the chaos before she even rounds the corner — calm, quick, purposeful. She’s already tying her hair back, pulling on gloves. “What do we have?” she asks, sliding into the curtained bay.
Jo steps aside to let her through. “Thirty-four weeks, pain started an hour ago. Fetal heart rate’s dropping, BP unstable.”
Addison’s already checking the woman’s abdomen, tone efficient but gentle. “Okay. Possible placental abruption. We’re not wasting time—get her to an OR, now.”
The husband grabs her arm, eyes wide. “Please—please just save them—”
Addison meets his gaze, steady and sure. “I will. We’ll take care of them both.”
In the OR, it’s a blur of light, sterile metal, and urgency. The fetal monitor beeps erratically. Addison’s scrubbed in, mask on, eyes sharp with focus. “Scalpel,” she says, and the nurse places it in her hand. Addison works fast — efficient, graceful. She doesn’t need to raise her voice; her authority fills the room without it. “Clear field. Suction. Clamp.”
The incision is made, and within moments— “Baby’s out,” Addison announces, but the silence that follows is too quiet. The baby isn’t crying.
“Nothing,” Jo whispers.
Addison’s jaw tightens. “Page Karev. Now.” Jo’s already on it. Addison hands the baby off as Alex bursts into the OR, still shrugging into gloves.
“What’ve we got?”
“Thirty-four weeks, placental abruption. Not breathing, no tone,” Addison says, her voice clipped with urgency but never panic. “Get him to NICU.”
Alex nods, cradling the infant carefully as he heads for the door. “I got it.”
Addison turns back to the table, steadying herself before resuming the repair. “Let’s keep her stable. We’re not losing anyone tonight.”
The rhythmic hum of machines fills the quiet. The baby lies tiny and fragile, chest rising and falling now — slow but steady. Alex stands over him, watching the monitors, exhaustion written across his face but a flicker of pride in his eyes. The door opens softly behind him. Addison steps in, still in her scrubs, her hair pulled loose from the surgery. “How’s our little fighter?” she asks, moving closer.
Alex glances at her, a tired grin tugging at his mouth. “He’s breathing on his own. I think he’s gonna be okay.”
Addison exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders. She leans over, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. “You did good work, Alex.”
He shrugs. “You kept the mum alive. Team effort.”
She smiles faintly, then glances sideways at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Meredith is, would you?”
Alex raises an eyebrow, “She was in the here earlier. Looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Said she was crashing in an on-call room.”
Addison nods, quiet for a beat. “Thanks.”
As she turns to go, Alex calls after her, “Hey, Addison?” She pauses, looks back. “She’s fine,” he says softly. “Or… she’s trying to be. You know how she is.”
Addison’s eyes soften, a flicker of worry passing through them. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I know.” She gives him a grateful nod and steps out — the quiet of the NICU giving way to the low hum of the hospital at night. Her stride is purposeful, but her expression carries something heavy — love, concern, the ache of knowing the woman she loves is still fighting ghosts she can’t see.
Addison pushed open the door quietly, expecting the usual dimly lit room, maybe Meredith curled up asleep on the bed. Instead, her heart stopped. Meredith was on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, hands gripping her own arms. Her body trembled slightly, and her hair fell forward in a damp curtain, hiding her face. Even from a few steps away, Addison could see the tension, the small shivers that weren’t just from fatigue.
“Meredith” Addison’s voice was gentle, careful, barely more than a whisper as she crossed the room quickly. She crouched down beside her fiancée, eyes scanning for any sign of injury. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.”
Meredith flinched slightly, lifting her head to peer through the strands of hair. Her eyes were wide, glassy, unsteady. “Addie?”
“Yeah,” Addison breathed, reaching out slowly to rest a hand on Meredith’s arm. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”
Meredith shook her head, words barely forming. “I… I was back there again. … I missed you…” Her voice cracked.
Addison’s chest tightened. She moved closer, curling beside Meredith, letting her lean against her. “You’re not there. You’re here, with me. You’re safe. Right here, right now.”
Meredith pressed her face against Addison’s shoulder, trembling. “It felt so real” she sobbed.
Shivers ran through her. Addison tightened her arm around her, murmuring soothingly. “You’re here. You’re breathing. You’re alive. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Meredith let out a small, shaky laugh, half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m sorry…After everything—after finding our way back—”
“Shhh,” Addison interrupted softly, tilting her head so their foreheads touched. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You’ve survived enough. Let yourself feel whatever you need to feel.”
Meredith’s breathing slowed slightly, her trembling easing under Addison’s warmth. After a long pause, she whispered, “You’re here.”
Addison brushed a damp lock of hair from her face. “I’m here. Always.”
Slowly, Meredith moved fully onto the bed, curling against Addison, letting her take the lead. Addison adjusted the blanket around them, holding her close, one hand tracing slow circles on her back. The room was quiet except for their breathing. Meredith’s head rested against Addison’s shoulder, and for the first time that night her body loosened. Addison pressed a soft kiss to the top of Meredith’s head. “I’ve got you honey. Just focus on me… on us.”
Meredith’s voice was muffled against her shoulder. “Don’t let go.”
Addison smiled softly, heart tight. “I won’t. Ever.” In the stillness of the night, with the world outside moving on, she held her — and she stayed. After several long moments, Addison whispered, her voice soft and careful: “Mer… did the letter… is that what triggered your dreams again?”
Meredith’s eyes remained closed for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “Maybe.” Addison stayed quiet, letting her take the lead. She didn’t press, didn’t prod. She just waited, fingers brushing lightly through Meredith’s hair. She could feel the tension still coiled in her fiancée’s body, the remnants of fear and grief.
“I dreamt the last night…” Meredith began, voice tight, hesitant. “It was the explosion. When the compound collapsed… Parker—he was trapped under part of it. I tried to get him out, I kept pulling, trying to free him. There was so much smoke and it was hard to breathe.” Her breath caught, a shudder running through her. “There was so much screaming, people running everywhere….I could barely think, trying to keep him alive.”
Addison pressed a kiss to the top of her head, keeping her hand firm on Meredith’s back, letting her body say I’m here. Meredith swallowed hard, voice breaking. “Then… I saw the uniforms, they were like mine. I realised we were finally being rescued, but Parker… Her voice faltered. “I tried to stop his bleeding… I thought I could save him. But…” she started crying. “He died in my arms… just as help found us.”
Addison wrapped her arms tighter, letting her grief spill safely into her embrace. “Oh, Mer…” she murmured, rocking her gently. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed a kiss to her temple, “You did the best you could.”
Meredith’s fingers clutched at Addison’s shirt. “It doesn’t feel like it. I keep seeing it. His face…. I… I couldn’t save him.” Her body shuddered, “We promised we’d get home.”
“It’s not your fault,” Addison whispered, heart aching. “He would’ve known you were trying, Mer. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
Meredith exhaled shakily, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I just… I keep thinking about how close I came to never getting back here….to you.”
Addison closed her eyes at the thought. “You are here, and I’m right here. That’s what matters.”
Meredith’s hands tightened around Addison’s waist, holding on as if that touch could anchor her to the present. “I don’t want to forget him… I don’t want to forget anyone. But it hurts so much.”
Addison kissed her forehead again, whispering gently, “You don’t have to forget. You just learn to carry it differently.”
Meredith let herself relax slightly, sinking further into Addison’s warmth. Her voice was a whisper, still raw but tethered: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” Addison murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled Meredith even closer, one hand stroking down her spine, coaxing her into a sleep.
Meredith’s pager buzzed sharply against bedside table. She stirred, blinking into the dark of the room and reached for the device. Addison’s arm draped loosely over her waist as she continued to sleep deeply, face buried against the pillow, her breathing soft and even.
She was needed in the pit for a consult and an incoming trauma. She sighed softly, carefully lifted Addison’s arm and eased herself out from under it with practiced gentleness. Addison didn’t move. Meredith paused for a moment, brushing a stray red curl away from Addison’s forehead before brushing a soft kiss to her skin. Quietly she slipped her shoes back on and left the room, closing the door with a soft click.
The pit was bright and humming compared to the quiet she’d just come from. It was kind of a half-chaos that came from a mild influx — nothing life-threatening, just messy. Interns darted between bays, faces tight with that mix of panic and hope they all wore. A two-car collision had arrived, one patient was already being wheeled toward the OR with Owen leading the charge, shouting vitals and strategy as he went. The remaining patients were clustered in the ER and Meredith stepped in smoothly, grabbing charts, voice steady and cool despite the late hour.
“Alright, what’ve we got?” The interns scrambled to focus. Meredith watched them, overseeing with quiet precision, grounding them with her presence. As she watched them work, offering advice here and there, she felt a soft sense of pride at their competence – not that she’d ever say it out loud.
A cup appeared in her peripheral vision, it was Teddy. She held out the coffee like an offering. “I thought you could use this, but somehow you don’t look as terrible as I feel right now.”
Meredith took it with a laugh, grateful. “Thanks. It’s been slow so I did manage a couple hours sleep.”
“Slow is good,” Teddy replied, leaning beside her against the counter. “Until the next trauma arrives.”
“Yeah,” Meredith said softly, sipping. The coffee was actually good — and they exchanged a tired, knowing smile.
Then – the ER door flew open and the trauma she’d been paged for was here. “Male, twenty-eight, fall from at least five stories,” the lead paramedic called out. “Possible internal bleeding, suspected pelvic fracture, BP dropping en route, pulse thready.”
Meredith and Teddy exchanged a look — game time. “I’ve got point,” Meredith said, already moving. Teddy was at her side instantly. They fell into rhythm without needing words. “Get him to Trauma One,” Meredith instructed. “Keep pressure on that wound — do not lift yet.”
They pushed the gurney into the trauma room, nurses scrambling to clear the path. Blood pressure plummeted again. “He’s crashing,” Teddy said, voice tight. “Paddles!” she yelled, Meredith already handing them over.
“Clear!” She watched the monitor, breath catching as she waited. “We got him,” she breathed, exchanging a quick smile with Meredith.
“We’re going to the OR now. He’s bleeding out somewhere.” They moved with controlled urgency, “Page Jo Wilson, she's the resident on duty.” Meredith added. “Tell her to scrub in — I want her with us.”
“On it,” a nurse called, bolting down the hallway. Meredith kept pressure on the patient’s abdomen, leaning over him as the gurney rolled. “Hang on,” she said quietly, more to him than to anyone else. “We’ve got you. Just stay with us.”
Monitors beep in steady rhythm. The scrub nurse hands instruments quickly; suction hums in the background. The patient lies open on the table, bleeding controlled now that they’ve found the source. Meredith stands on one of the table with her hands deep in the abdomen, Teddy across from her, Jo steady beside her. “Clamp,” Meredith says quietly. The instrument is placed into her hand without hesitation. She applies it, checks the bleeder, nods. “Good. Suction?”
Jo moves in, careful and precise. “Perfect,” Meredith murmurs. The room settles into the familiar rhythm. For a long moment, they work in quiet focus. Then Meredith breaks the silence. “So, I took Addison to the zoo yesterday,” she says gently, casually — as if mentioning she’d tried a new coffee shop, not something tender and private.
Both Jo and Teddy look up, surprised. “You went to the zoo?” Jo asks, delighted. “Like… the actual zoo?”
Teddy’s eyes crinkle behind her mask. “Look at you two having a wholesome date.”
Meredith snorts softly. “Yeah, well you know me, nothing if not romantic.” Meredith laughed, “You should’ve seen Addison, barely made it past the otters. Apparently they’re her favourite.”
Jo brightened. “Oh! For real, otters are the best.”
“She kept squeezing my arm and whispering ‘look at them, look at them’ like I wasn’t standing right next to her.” Meredith shook her head fondly. “She was… otterly adorable.”
Teddy groaned. “No. No you didn’t.”
Jo gasped, delighted. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”
Meredith shrugged, eyes smug. “Don’t hate the player,” she laughed.
“Suction,” Teddy said, smiling behind her mask. Jo stepped in, while she tied off a vessel. “Cute day, then.”
“It was perfect,” Meredith said quietly. “We needed something normal.”
Jo hummed in agreement as she placed another retractor. “Speaking of normal… I’m thinking of buying a place.”
Meredith blinked. “A place-place? Like an actual house?”
“Or a condo,” Jo said. “Something that’s mine. Something stable. And then maybe…” She hesitated. “Alex could move in, if he wants.”
Teddy’s eyes widened above her mask. “Wow. That’s—big.”
“You’re serious?” Meredith asked, genuinely surprised.
Jo nodded. “Yeah. I mean… it feels right. We’ve done the whole live at yours for so long. Now you and Addison are engaged, I feel like maybe we should give you your own space you know, and I kinda want a life that doesn’t feel like it’s always temporary.”
“That’s— I get it.” Meredith smiled softly. “I’m really happy for you, for you and Alex.” Jo’s eyes softened with gratitude. “So speaking of moving in,” Meredith said casually, “any progress on the Cristina front?”
Jo snorted so loudly that Teddy whipped her head toward her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jo said, absolutely lying. “Just… Cristina. Moving in. That’s… that’s a whole event.”
Teddy sighed, exasperated. “See, this is the reaction I keep getting. It does not inspire confidence.”
Meredith held delicately in place while Teddy worked around her. “It’s not that she doesn’t want you. She just…is a free spirit.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jo muttered. Teddy cast her a look that could cut through bone. Jo cleared her throat. “Uh—sorry. Suction?”
Meredith snorted, eyes crinkling in amusement. “She loves you,” Meredith said gently. “You know that.”
Teddy’s shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah. I do. Its just whenever the moving-in conversation even approaches… landmine.”
“It’ll happen,” Meredith said. “In a Cristina Yang way. Which is—slow. And weird. And blunt.”
“And terrifying,” Teddy added.
“That too.” They worked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the heavy part of the surgery mostly finished. “Okay,” Meredith finally said, stepping back slightly. “Let’s close. Jo, he’s all yours.”
Jo lit up, taking position. “Thank you, Dr. Grey.”
Teddy glanced at Meredith as they headed to scrub out “You’re in a giving mood, which is odd considering the shift we’ve just had.”
Meredith tilted her head, soft, thoughtful. “Yeah. I guess I am.” The weight of the nightmare still lingered — but Addison, the warmth of being held, and the steady rhythm of surgery had settled her considerably. Teddy nudged her with an elbow. “Well… good. Stay that way.”
Meredith smirked. “No promises.” As they step into the scrub room, the adrenaline faded; what’s left is that familiar bone-deep tiredness that comes after a long night and a successful save. They finish rinsing, pull paper towels from the dispenser. “So,” Teddy says, leaning back against the counter, “Cristina’s off today, we could grab breakfast with her?”
Meredith dries her hands, then leans her hip against the counter beside her. The exhaustion softens her voice. “Breakfast sounds good. I’ll meet you in the lounge after I check in with Addison.” She glanced at the clock, “Her shift is starting soon.”
“Perfect,” Teddy says, “Tell her I say good morning.” She bumps Meredith’s shoulder lightly as they leave the room. “Hurry and go find your fiancée, I’m starving.”
Meredith rolls her eyes and waves, “I’ll catch you in a few.”
The door clicks open softly as Meredith steps inside the on-call room. Addison is just waking — blinking against the dim sunlight slipping around the edges of the blinds. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. When she sees Meredith, her entire face softens. “Hey,” Addison murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
Meredith’s chest loosens just at the sound. She closes the door quietly behind her. “Morning.”
Addison stretches, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her neck. “What time is it?”
“A little after half- five” Meredith says. “Your shift starts soon.” Addison nods, yawns, then holds a hand out in invitation — the kind of silent invitation that needs no words. Meredith crosses the room immediately. She sinks onto the bed beside her, and Addison pulls her into a loose, sleepy embrace. Meredith tucks her face into Addison’s neck, breathing her in and pressing a faint kiss to soft, warm skin.
“You okay?” Addison asks quietly, lips brushing Meredith’s temple.
“Yeah,” Meredith whispers. “I’m okay.”
Addison’s fingers slide gently along Meredith’s spine, soothing. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A couple hours.” She presses her lips to Addison’s jaw. “Thanks to you.”
Addison smiles, soft and private. They stay like that for a long, quiet moment — Addison still half-asleep, Meredith resting in the kind of stillness she doesn’t often let herself have. Eventually, Addison exhales and pulls back just enough to look at her. “I should go shower before rounds.”
Meredith nods, though her expression says she’d rather hold onto this a little longer. “Yeah. Teddy’s waiting for me in the lounge.” She leans in for another kiss, this one to Addison’s lips.
Addison cups Meredith’s face with a warm palm, brushing her thumb gently across her cheek. “Take it easy the rest of your day?”
“That’s the plan,” Meredith says softly.
Addison’s smile curves, warm and knowing. “Good.” She leans in and kisses Meredith again— slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that grounds instead of ignites. Meredith melts into it, resting her hands lightly at Addison’s waist.
Meredith hums. “Try not to traumatise any residents today.”
“No promises,” Addison smirks, and steals one more kiss before slipping off the bed.
Meredith watches her gather her lab coat and tie her hair back, moving with practiced morning economy. “So I was thinking… if you’re done at a reasonable hour…” Her voice softens, eyes warm. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Addison’s lips curve — slow, content, touched. “Another date?”
“Another date,” Meredith confirms. “We’ll get some pizza, maybe some wine if you’re lucky.” She stands, crossing the room with purpose. “And, if you’re really lucky..” she grins, leaning forward and whispering in her ear.
Addison exhales, a soft, full sound. “That sounds perfect.”
Meredith laughs softly. “I thought you’d say that,” she kisses her then, feeling Addison smile into it. When they part, Addison rests their foreheads together.
“Walk me to the lounge?”
Meredith’s smile is small but certain. “Sure.” Addison pauses at the door, giving her a soft look that lands right in Meredith’s chest, before slipping into the hallway. Meredith lingers a beat longer in the quiet, before gathering herself and following Addison out into the day.
Chapter Text
The cafeteria is unusually calm — the lull between the morning rush and the lunchtime scramble. Addison drops into a chair with the boneless relief of someone who’s been on her feet since dawn. Callie arrives first, sliding into the seat across from her with her tray. “You look weirdly relaxed. Should I call a Neuro consult?”
“No need,” Addison lifts her coffee. “I’ve had two routine C-sections and a smooth induction. Not a single haemorrhage or terrified first-time father fainting. It’s been… civilised so far.”
“Well, if you get bored, come to Ortho. My patient tried to moonwalk down the stairs to impress his kids and shattered his ankle,” Callie says with a grin.
Addison winces. “That is aggressively cringe,” she says, nodding a greeting to Bailey.
“Oh, it gets better,” she adds brightly. “His wife filmed it.”
“I swear, some days I think we’re all on hidden camera,” Bailey grimaces. “I’ve had two residents cry, three consults, and one attending who somehow managed to lock himself in a fire stairwell.”
Addison blinks. “How does an attending get locked in a stairwell?”
“Hubris,” Bailey says plainly. “He believed the door would stay open.”
Callie snorts. “Classic mistake.”
The banter flows easily — the kind that only comes from moments of chaos and shared trauma and endless cups of bad coffee. Bailey eyes Addison over her fork. “Alright, Montgomery. You’re smiling. What’s that about?”
Addison rolls her eyes but can’t quite wipe the tiny smile off her face. “Maybe I’m allowed to smile.”
Callie points at her. “No, she’s right. You’re doing the soft, dreamy smile. You only do that when Meredith is making you very… romantically fulfilled.”
“Callie,” Addison warns, but there’s no heat in it.
Bailey waves a hand. “The wedding — have you two set a date yet?”
Addison blinks, thrown. “A date? Oh. God, no. We haven’t even discussed it. We’re still in the… blissfully overwhelmed phase.”
Callie props her chin on her hand. “Any idea what you want? Big? Small? Backyard? Beach? Cathedral-level drama?”
Addison scoffs. “I’m not doing a wedding with chandeliers. Or an aisle made of rose petals. Or a twelve-piece violin ensemble.”
Bailey nods approvingly. “Good. Sensible.”
Addison adds, “And Meredith would literally combust if we had more than twenty guests.”
Callie barks a laugh. “Yeah, she would. She’d elope in a supply closet if she could.”
Addison softens at the thought. “We’ll figure it out. But right now, we’re just… happy. And honestly? After the year we’ve had, that’s enough for me right now.”
Bailey watches her, something gentle flickering in her eyes. “That’s good. You and Grey both deserve a little peace.”
Callie nudges her playfully. “Also — I want to be on the dress committee. Or tux committee. Or jumpsuit committee. I don’t know what you’re going for, but I want in.”
“You’ll hear about it,” Addison promises. “Eventually. Maybe.”
Callie gasps dramatically. “Wow. I feel so trusted.”
Bailey stands, gathering her things. “Break’s over. Patients aren’t going to fix themselves.”
Callie follows but points two fingers at Addison like she’s declaring a duel. “I better get a Save the Date when you have one.”
Addison groans. “You two are exhausting.”
Bailey smirks. “And yet you wouldn’t know what to do without us.” They head out in different directions, and Addison returns to the maternity floor with a tiny smile tugging at her mouth — the kind she pretends isn’t there, but absolutely is.
The soft beeps and low hums of the NICU always felt like their own universe — warmer, quieter, somehow suspended from the rest of the hospital’s chaos. Addison steps inside, pulling back her hair as she scans for the incubator she’s looking for. The baby from last night — tiny, intubated, swaddled, still fighting. Arizona is already there, adjusting a setting on the vent with calm, expert fingers. Addison smiles faintly. “You beat me to it.”
Arizona glances over her shoulder. “You know me. I haunt this place.” Then, with a teasing smile, “Also, you walk slow.”
Addison scoffs. “I do not walk slow. I walk elegantly.”
“Sure you do,” Arizona snorts.
Addison steps beside her, eyes dropping to the baby. “How’s he doing?”
“Better,” Arizona says with a soft nod. “Alex brought him up stabilised, and he actually handled the night beautifully.”
Addison watches her work, “You taught him well.” At the confused look, she clarifies. “Karev. Even if he pretends he learned everything through osmosis.”
Arizona snorts quietly. “I taught him a few things. But most of that talent? That’s all Alex.” She exhales dramatically. “Don’t make me say anymore nice things about him. I’m trying to keep my own ego intact.”
Addison nudges her shoulder. “You trained him. He’s yours. Accept your legacy.”
Arizona tries — and fails — not to smile, strong and proud. For a moment, they stand in silence, watching the soft rise and fall of the tiny chest beneath the tubes. Addison’s voice drops to something gentler. “Hey… I never really got to thank you.”
Arizona tilts her head. “For what?”
“For being there,” Addison says quietly. “When Meredith was missing. You checked on me, you… you were steady. I didn’t always let people in but—” Her throat tightens a little. “It mattered. It still matters.”
Arizona’s expression softens in a way that feels both kind and a little bruised. “Addison… I know what it feels like to lose someone. Or think you have.” Addison looks at her, curious. “My brother,” Arizona says with a quiet breath. “He died overseas. Combat zone. They said they didn’t have enough doctors on the ground to save him.” A sad smile flickers. “That’s why I became one who would be willing to go anywhere.”
Addison’s face shifts — sympathy, understanding, ache. “Arizona… I didn’t know.”
Arizona shrugs lightly, but there’s nothing casual about it. “I don’t talk about him much.” Then her voice gets even softer as her gaze drops to the baby. “But maybe that’s why… to me, Meredith is a hero.”
Addison swallows hard.
“She went somewhere most people wouldn’t survive. She kept helping people when she barely had anything left. She came home and still… loves. Still works. Still fights to be better. That kind of strength? That kind of morality?” Arizona nods, decisive. “It means something.” She glances at Addison, “It means everything.”
Addison absorbs this — the weight of it, the truth of it — and finds herself staring at the tiny baby instead of meeting Arizona’s eyes. “She’s being honoured,” Addison finally says, voice low. “The Army wants to present her an award for her service and acts of bravery.”
Arizona looks up sharply. “That’s… incredible.”
Addison shakes her head slowly. “She threw the letter away. She doesn’t want it.”
Arizona’s features soften in instant understanding. “Survivor’s guilt.”
“Yeah,” Addison whispers. “She feels like… accepting it means she’s taking something from the people who didn’t make it home.”
Arizona’s brow pinches — thoughtful, compassionate. “I can talk to her,” she says gently, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
Addison’s shoulders drop — not in defeat, but in relieved honesty. “I just… I don’t want to push her. I don’t ever want her to think I’m minimising what she went through. But I also want her to understand that what she did matters. That it mattered to people like… your brother.” A small, sad smile. “To the families who never got their heroes back.”
Arizona lets out a soft breath, eyes warming. “I’ll talk to her. Not to convince her of anything — just to remind her that sometimes acknowledging our pain, honours theirs.”
Addison nods, something grateful settling in her chest. “Thank you.”
Arizona smiles — bright, but touched with something vulnerable. “Meredith Grey deserves people in her corner.” A beat. “And… you deserve a little help carrying all this too.” Addison blinks, caught off guard by how seen she feels, but before she can reply, the baby lets out a tiny whimper — a good sign. Arizona leans over the incubator, voice softening to that magical paediatric tone. “That’s right, little guy. You tell them you’re a fighter.”
Addison finds herself smiling again — not the polite smile she gives the world, but the real one she only shares in quiet, safe places.
Addison steps out of the OR, entering notes on her tablet as she walks — and nearly crashes straight into someone rounding the corner. A hand shoots out and steadies her elbow. “Easy there, Red,” Mark says, grinning. “You barrel through one more corridor like that and I’m submitting a safety report.”
Addison exhales a laugh. “You don’t even read safety reports.”
“I skim,” he says, falling into step beside her. “When they’re about me.”
They fall into an easy stride together, heading toward the main nurses’ station. Mark glances sideways at her. “Haven’t seen you around. You hiding? Avoiding me? That hurts you know.”
Addison rolls her eyes. “You’ve been buried in boob jobs and butt-lifts. I’ve been buried under babies. We are two very busy people.”
“Ah,” Mark says, “so you did miss me.” She gives him a dry, flat look. He laughs, warm and genuine, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “You doing okay?” he asks. Not teasing. Just soft, real Mark — the one only a handful of people ever get to see.
Addison hesitates a second. “Yeah. Something Arizona said earlier, got me thinking.”
“Ah,” Mark nods, bumping her gently. “I don't recommend it. Thinking is dangerous for you.”
Addison smiles, small but sincere. “So I’ve heard.”
He studies her a little more closely. “You two good? You and Meredith?”
“Yeah,” Addison says, soft. “We’re really good.”
“You two are… disgustingly wholesome.”
Addison’s laugh catches her off guard. “Wholesome? Us?”
“What can I say?” Mark shrugs. “Trauma makes people weird.”
She shakes her head at him, but her eyes are warmer. “How’s Lexie? She’s been crazy busy this week, haven’t seen her much.”
Mark lets out a dramatic sigh. “She’s in Neuro heaven. Derek’s been running her ragged but she loves it. I see her when she stumbles home at 2 a.m., mumbling something about spinal tracts and beautiful tumours.”
Addison shakes her head fondly. “She’s going to make a brilliant neurosurgeon.”
“She already is,” he says proudly. “But she did buy new throw pillows the other day.”
Addison snorts. “Of course she did.”
“And,” Mark continues, “Meredith pretends she hates them but she absolutely stole the fuzzy one. Claimed it like a feral house-cat.”
“Oh, trust me,” Addison says. “I’m not surprised.”
A nurse calls Mark’s name from down the hall. He winces. “Duty calls.” He turns to go, then pauses and points at her. “Hey — don’t overthink whatever it is, okay?”
“No promises,” Addison replies dryly.
“And dinner with Meredith tonight?” he adds, walking backward. “Don’t bail. She gets moody when you’re not around.”
Addison arches an eyebrow. “You’re unusually invested in my love life, Sloan.”
“Somebody has to be,” he shoots back. “You two are like a rom-com with extra trauma. It’s entertaining.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling as he jogs off.
Meredith stepped into the attendings lounge and paused, her gaze drifting to the closed bathroom door. The shower was running, steady and loud—but it wasn’t the water that made her smile. Beneath the rush of steam and spray, she could hear soft singing. Addison’s singing. Low, content, completely unguarded. A quiet laugh slipped out of her, shoulders lifting with it. God, of course Addison was singing in the shower.
Shaking her head, Meredith moved toward the couches—only to stop again when a familiar name caught her eye on a nearby locker. She hesitated, glancing between the locker and the bathroom door. Then she checked her watch. Addison would be a few more minutes. With a little shrug and a private smile, Meredith decided she had time.
Derek is standing at the light board, arms folded, waiting for a patient scan to load. His eyes flick between the screen and the chart in his hand — distracted in the very Derek Shepherd way that means he’s thinking about twelve things at once. Meredith leans against the doorframe, arms folded and watching him in silence. The hum of the monitor filled the space between them until it felt almost deliberate.
Finally, she broke it. “I need your help,” she said briskly, stepping into the room. “And you owe me a favour, so you kinda don’t have a choice.”
Derek didn’t look at her. “Do I? For what, exactly?” his voice distracted.
Meredith’s hands lifted in an impatient wave. “I don’t know… for falling in love with my fiancée, for being too damn nice, which means I can’t punch you in the face like I wanted to.”
That got his attention. He turned, amusement flickering through his eyes. “Firstly,” he said, “you of all people know how easy it is to love Addison, so don’t start.”
Meredith rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Fair point.”
“And secondly,” Derek went on, “it was one, fairly ordinary, almost sad, barely there kiss. Eight months ago.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call kissing Addison ordinary and sad, because then I really will have to punch you.”
“I didn’t say kissing her is sad,” Derek protests, amused. “The moment was sad. Big difference.” Meredith glared harder. He smirked, hands raised in mock surrender. “And thirdly, I’ve moved on. I’m dating now.”
“Well, good for you,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “But I still need your help. And after what you just said about Addison, it’s definitely in your best interest.”
That drew a laugh out of him, quiet and warm. “All right, all right. What do you need?”
There was a small pause. Her confidence faltered, just slightly — enough for him to notice. She shifted, staring at a spot somewhere past his shoulder. “I actually came to ask you about… studies. Or treatments. For PTSD.”
That softened him. The teasing slipped from his face, replaced by something steadier. “Of course,” he said. “Meredith, you could’ve just led with that.”
“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, “asking for help isn’t exactly my thing.”
“No kidding.” His smile was gentle, almost fond, when she shot him a glare for it. “If I’m going to recommend a treatment plan for you, I should probably mention that I won’t be available on Friday nights.”
She groans. “You’re impossible.”
“Accurate,” he agrees. Then softer, more grounded: “Meredith… whatever you need, I’ll help you find it. Studies, trials, therapy models — all of it.”
She let out a quiet breath, relief threading through it. “Thanks.” A beat passed — easier now, lighter. Then she tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “So… you’re dating?” Derek nodded, that familiar charming smile returning. “Well,” she said, pushing off the doorframe, “good luck with that. Try not to bore her with brain talk on the first date.”
He laughed as she walked out, the sound echoing softly behind her. When the scan finally loaded, he turned back to it, still smiling and fondly shaking his head.
Meredith is almost at the door to the lounge when Cristina rounds the corner, stops dead, looks her up and down, and whistles. A long, dramatic whistle. “Well, damn,” Cristina says, eyes narrowing as she assesses Meredith’s outfit. “Look at you. Hot lumberjack chic.”
Meredith blinks, looking down at her red and black flannel. Then laughs. “It’s just a shirt, Cristina.”
“No,” Cristina says firmly, gesturing at her with both hands. “This is a look. This is a very bisexual farmwife who’s going to chop wood and break hearts, look.”
Meredith smirks, “Does a flannel and a tank top really do it for you?”
“Honestly, right now, yes” Cristina says. “If I wasn’t scared of your fiancée finding out, I might just crack on to you for real.”
Meredith snorts. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. You’d hit on anything with a pulse.”
Cristina places a dignified hand on her chest. “Excuse me. I have standards. High ones. Mostly. Except that one time in med school but we don’t talk about—”
“Cristina,” Meredith warns, laughing.
Cristina grins, leaning in. “Seriously though… you look good. Happy. It’s gross, but in a satisfying way.”
Before Meredith can respond, the lounge door opens. Addison steps out — hair loose, nice blouse and jeans, her coat slung over her arm. The second she sees Meredith her lips curve in a soft, warm smile. That smile deepens the moment she takes in the flannel, the tight jeans, the boots.
“Well,” Addison says, a tongue darting out to lick her lips subtly, “don’t you look…” Her eyes sweep once, slow and appreciative. “…very kissable.”
Cristina makes a gagging noise. “Ugh, I hate it here. I’m leaving” She starts backing away to the desk down the hall, muttering, “Have fun on your disgustingly domestic date,” and flicks a hand over her shoulder.
Meredith watches her go, before turning back to Addison. “Ready?” she asks.
Addison steps close, her hand finding Meredith’s waist. “I’m always ready for you.”
Meredith smirks.
Not long after, Bailey came barrelling down the corridor, charts in hand, expression tight and deeply done with everyone. Cristina straightened at the desk — not really out of respect, but because Bailey’s energy could knock a person flat. “Dr. Bailey.”
“Is Dr. Montgomery still around?” Bailey asked, scanning the hall like Addison might be hiding under a gurney. “I need a quick consult before she leaves.”
Cristina’s mouth curved in a slow, wicked smirk. “Oh, she’s around,” she said. “But she’s not available for a consult at the moment.”
Bailey blinked, impatient. “Yang, I do not have time for your cryptic nonsense. Where. Is. She.”
Cristina couldn’t help herself — she jerked her thumb toward the on-call room at the end of the hall. Bailey marched toward it, muttering under her breath. Cristina followed, openly delighted. Bailey reached the door, lifted her hand to knock— and froze.
Because through the door came very soft but very unmistakable sounds. A quiet, breathy moan. Followed by a hushed laugh. Then another muffled, definitely-not-professional noise.
Bailey’s eyes widened so dramatically Cristina nearly applauded. She looked at Yang like this was her fault. Cristina only raised her brows and shrugged. “Well?” Cristina asked, voice low, amused. “How bad do you want that consult?”
Bailey glared at her, then — in full scandalised-mother-hen mode — knocked firmly on the door. Instant silence. Followed by a muffled gasp. A few seconds later, Meredith’s voice came through the door, breathless and slightly annoyed: “What?”
“Dr. Grey,” Bailey said pointedly, “I need Dr. Montgomery for a quick consult.”
There was muffled whispering inside the room. Definitely whispering, and laughing, and something that sounded suspiciously like Addison saying: “I told you to wait till after dinner.”
“It’s not an emergency, is it?” Meredith then called back.
“No, it is not an emergency,” Bailey snapped. “If it were an emergency, I would’ve kicked this door in already.”
More hushed talking. More laughing. Something bumped against something. Then Meredith again, sounding very much like she was smiling: “Addison will meet you in ten minutes. If you go away.” A beat. Then she added, “Otherwise it’ll be twenty.”
Bailey stared at the door like it personally offended her. “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered, turning sharply and storming back down the hall. Cristina followed her, hands tucked behind her pockets, trying — and failing — not to laugh. Bailey threw a hand into the air as she marched forward, muttering: “Sex in on-call rooms, no respect for professionalism anymore, I swear to God…”
Cristina grinned, glancing back at the door, “Technically they’re not on shift”
“Shut it, Yang!”
Cristina only laughed harder as they disappeared around the corner.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look Miranda in the eye again,” Addison groaned, though she was smiling as she laced her fingers through Meredith’s on the walk back to the car. “They all looked at me like they knew exactly what we were doing. I did that consult in record time.”
Meredith’s grin was downright wicked. “Oh, babe… that was nothing. If you want something to really be embarrassed about, we have plenty of options.”
Addison shot her a look. “No. Absolutely not. I am desperately clinging to the idea that I am still a professional.”
“Oh, please,” Meredith snorted. “Professionalism died the first time you let me rail you in your office while you were still on shift.”
“Meredith!” Addison sputtered, scandalised, checking instinctively over her shoulder like Bailey might materialise out of thin air. Meredith just shrugged innocently and leaned in close.
“And if you try to implement some ‘no sex at work’ rule—” she nudged Addison back against the car door, caging her in with a smirk, “—we’ll barely ever see each other naked. Which just feels cruel.”
Addison’s protest dissolved the second her gaze dropped to Meredith’s mouth. “Cruel,” she echoed in a whisper, eyes darkening, “and utterly tragic.”
“Exactly,” Meredith murmured, brushing their lips together before kissing her properly - slow, soft and smug. “Now come on. Dinner. Before I start considering having dessert again.”
Dinner was supposed to be calm. Normal. A return to decency. It lasted… maybe eight seconds. They were barely seated before Meredith’s hand slid along Addison’s thigh under the table, slow and deliberate. Addison jolted upright like she’d been caught doing something illegal. “Meredith Grey,” she whispered, eyes wide, “behave.”
“I’m just sitting,” Meredith said, the picture of innocence as she sipped her water with her other hand. “What happened to all that professional decorum?”
Addison narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Meredith said, smiling over the rim of her glass. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Addison made a noise of protest, picking up her menu as if it could shield her. “I am not flustered.” Meredith’s hand traced further up her thigh. Addison dropped the menu.
The waiter arrived an unfortunate second later, clearing his throat. “Uh… are we ready to order?” Addison plastered on her doctor smile—polished, poised, completely at odds with the fact Meredith was still touching her under the table like she had a death wish. “Yes,” Addison said brightly. “We’re ready.”
“We are?” Meredith murmured, eyes glinting as she leaned back in her chair. Addison shot her a warning look. Meredith only raised an eyebrow as if to say: try me.
They ordered—well, Addison ordered. Meredith was too busy smirking—but the moment they were alone again, Addison leaned forward, hands folded, trying to reclaim even a sliver of dignity. “So,” she began, “I thought maybe we could have a normal conversation. Adult, civil—”
Meredith sipped her drink. “Boring.”
“Necessary,” Addison argued.
“Impossible,” Meredith countered, giving her that soft little half-smile that always ruined her.
Addison sighed, but her lips twitched. “You’re in a mood today. Did enjoy breakfast with Teddy?”
Meredith blinked, surprised by the subject change. “Cristina was there too, before you comment about it being a date.” Addison just smirked. “Yeah. It was nice,” Meredith added.
“Good.” Addison reached across the table and took her hand gently. “I like seeing you like this.” Meredith squeezed back, thumb brushing Addison’s knuckles in a way that was far too tender for a restaurant with laminated menus.
“It's cute when you get all sentimental over me,” she admitted quietly. “Even if you pretend you don’t.”
Addison softened, the kind of soft she reserved only for Meredith. “I don’t pretend anything with you.”
They held the moment—warm, intimate, grounding—until the server walked by again, clearly clocking the tension and deciding to pretend he saw nothing. Meredith smirked. “We’re being stared at.”
“That’s because you’ve been trying to get in my pants under this table for fifteen straight minutes.”
Meredith shrugged. “Fifteen? Amateur numbers. I can go longer.”
Addison’s mouth dropped open. “Meredith!”
“What?” Meredith laughed. “You said you wanted a normal dinner. This is me being normal around you,” she winked.
Addison tried to glare. Failed. Melted instead. “God help me,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair, “I’m in love with a menace.”
Meredith beamed. “But a sexy menace.” Addison’s blush confirmed it and Meredith’s quiet, satisfied smile said she absolutely knew.
They barely made it through the front door before Meredith grabbed Addison by the wrist and tugged her inside with all the subtlety of a teenager sneaking someone in past curfew. Mark and Lexie were curled up on the couch, mid-movie, a shared blanket over their legs. They both looked up just in time to see Meredith and Addison barrell past—flushed, and absolutely vibrating with barely-contained need.
Mark blinked. Then grinned. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to come home, come to rumple more sheets or was the on-call room enough for tonight?.”
Lexie swatted his chest without looking away from the screen. “Mark, stop. Don’t embarrass them.”
“Oh, I’m not embarrassing them,” he said, folding his arms smugly. “They’re doing that themselves.”
Addison, mortified, tried to look composed while Meredith tugged her toward the stairs like she was about to disappear if she didn’t move fast enough. “Goodnight Mark,” Meredith called over her shoulder, though she didn’t slow her pace at all.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s impatient.”
Lexie smacked him again. Harder this time. “Watch the movie.”
“I am watching the movie,” Mark argued, eyes still following Meredith and Addison halfway up the staircase. “This is just the better show.” Meredith flipped him off without turning around. Mark called after them, “Try not to break the bed this time—”
“MARK!” Lexie yelped, covering his mouth with her hand. But the damage was done—Addison made a noise somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh as Meredith pushed her through their bedroom door, slammed it shut behind them, and kissed her like she’d been waiting too all night.
The movie resumed downstairs.
Upstairs, Addison forgot all about dignity, decorum, and the fact Mark Sloan existed at all.
Chapter Text
Mark trudged into the kitchen at an ungodly hour, rubbing sleep from his eyes and fully prepared to complain about the world, when he spotted someone at the table.
Cristina Yang. In a hoodie. Eating Fruit Loops like she lived there.
He froze.
She froze.
A single loop slid off her spoon and plopped back into the bowl.
In his exhausted panic, Mark instinctively lifted both hands to cover his bare chest like someone had walked in on him changing. Cristina stared at him… then snorted. “Relax, Sloan. Your breasts don’t interest me anymore.”
Mark blinked. “...Anymore?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Teddy’s are better.”
He wasn’t sure if he was offended, intrigued, or deeply confused. “Should I be flattered, insulted or turned on right now ? I can’t tell.”
“None of the above,” Cristina muttered around another spoonful of cereal.
Mark shook his head like he could reset his brain. “Okay, what are you even doing here at—” he checked the clock “—5:30 AM? Did Meredith adopt you again and not tell anyone?”
Cristina shrugged, very clearly not wanting to talk about it. “Could ask you the same. Isn’t today your day off?”
Mark scowled, marching to the coffee machine. “I got woken up.”
Cristina raised an eyebrow. “By what?”
“I’m in a very loving, committed relationship with Lexie Grey.” Cristina just looked confused. “Addison and Meredith were having the kind of sex that haunts a man in my position,” he announced dramatically. “They’re definitely sisters.”
Cristina gagged so hard she nearly choked on her cereal. “OH MY GOD. No. Absolutely not. Why—why would you say that out loud?”
“I needed to share the trauma,” Mark said, turning on the machine.
“I hate you,” Cristina muttered.
“Get in line,” Mark muttered.
They sat in relative silence—Cristina crunching her cereal, Mark sipping his coffee like a widowed Victorian woman—until footsteps sounded on the stairs. Meredith wandered in, damp hair, fresh clothes, cheeks pink, her smile was huge. Radiant. Completely unrestrained.
Cristina gagged again. “NO. Put that away. It’s way too early.”
Meredith frowned. “Good morning to you too. Why are you in my kitchen?” She looked at her watch, “Shouldn’t you be on your way to work?”
Cristina suddenly looked… uncomfortable. Almost shy. She darted a glance toward Mark, who immediately became very busy pretending the coffee machine needed intense supervision.
Cristina poked at her cereal. “Teddy said she… loved me.”
Meredith blinked, surprised. “She finally told you?”
Cristina nodded her head, cheeks puffing as she sighed. “She wants me to move in.”
Meredith softened. “And you ran here?”
“No,” Cristina said unconvincingly. Mark snorted. Cristina glared.
Mark, without turning around, said casually, “For the record, she does love you.”
Cristina froze. “How do YOU know?”
Mark shrugged, sipping his coffee. “I’m her friend. She talks. Sometimes even to me.”
Meredith pulled out a chair and sat beside her, the smile still lingering but gentler now. “Maybe you should go and talk to her.”
Cristina sighed, “Maybe.” She stood up, finishing the last of her cereal. “Or I’ll just avoid her until I know what to say.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “And next time you coming running scared to my house, wait till a respectable hour like a normal person.”
“Normal is boring,” Cristina shrugged.
Mark scoffed from the counter. “Normal is also quieter. Which I would appreciate, considering no one in this house seems to care about other people’s sleep schedules.”
Meredith patted Mark’s cheek as she walked past him. “Maybe get a place of your own if you’re allergic to what a healthy sex life sounds like.”
Mark straightened defensively. “We have a very healthy sex life, thank you—”
“No one asked,” Cristina cut in.
Mark opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, “Lexie thinks I’m very healthy,” into his coffee mug. Cristina rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something, mumbled something noncommittal and headed toward the door. Meredith only smirked.
“See you at work!” she called out after her.
The moment the door closed, Addison padded down the stairs. Hair hanging loose over one shoulder, sweater hanging off one arm. She stopped halfway into the kitchen, blinking. “Was that… Cristina?” Meredith gave her a sunny, absolutely sinful smile. Addison turned to Mark next—who was still scowling into his coffee like it had personally wronged him. “And why do you look like someone insulted your entire bloodline?”
Mark jabbed a finger toward Meredith. “Ask her. I’m just a victim.”
“You’re dramatic,” Meredith said, breezing past him to grab her own jacket. “And very hydrated. Because you drank half the coffee pot.”
Addison looked between them, bewildered. “Okay, what did I miss? Why was Cristina here? Why is Mark sulking?”
Meredith stepped close, kissed Addison’s cheek, and grabbed her hand. “I’ll explain everything in the car.” Addison let herself be pulled toward the door, glancing back over her shoulder briefly.
Behind them, Mark muttered into his mug, “We need to move out,” just as Lexie wandered in, saw his expression, and started laughing.
Callie Torres stood in front of the light board, arms folded tight as she studied the scan of the leg in front of her. The femur wasn’t just broken—it was obliterated. Shards everywhere. The kind of fracture that made even an Ortho surgeon grimace. Heavy footsteps approached, and then the door swung open.
“Dr. Torres,” Bailey said, marching in with a clipboard tucked under her arm. “We’ve had a few transfers come in this morning. Which means congratulations—you’ve got a new resident today.”
Callie blinked. “A transfer? Why me?”
“Because I like to give you puzzles,” Bailey deadpanned, before stepping aside. “This is Dr. Sadie Harris.”
Sadie entered with a casual swagger, hands in her pockets, a friendly—maybe too friendly—smile on her face. “Hey.”
Callie gave a polite nod. “Welcome.”
Bailey looked between them once more. “Try to not traumatise this one, Torres. And Harris—try to keep up.” She pivoted and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
The room felt instantly quieter. Callie turned back to the scan. “Okay, Dr. Harris. Let’s start simple. Tell me what you see.”
Sadie stepped closer to the light board until she was beside Callie, leaning in to study the film. “Comminuted femur fracture,” she said. “Mid-shaft. And… maybe proximal vascular involvement?” She hesitated, frowning slightly. “The swelling makes it a little hard to tell.”
Callie nodded. “Half right. The comminuted part is correct, but there’s no vascular compromise. That shadow is just soft tissue swelling.” Sadie nodded thoughtfully—and then her gaze slid sideways. Callie kept her eyes on the scan, but she could feel Sadie looking at her.
“So,” Sadie said, her tone dropping into something warmer, silkier. “Is ortho always this… intense? Or is that just you?”
Callie stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Sadie shrugged, casual, as if she hadn’t just crossed a line. “Just an observation. You’re very—” she waved her hand vaguely, “—commanding at the light board.”
Callie took a deliberate step back, needing distance. “Okay.”
“Sorry,” the smile tugging at her mouth made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. “I just admire good teaching.”
Callie let out a long breath through her nose. Arizona’s name was practically flashing in neon behind her eyelids. I am in a very happy relationship. I am a professional surgeon. I will not throw this resident out a window. “Right,” Callie said tightly. “Well, if you’re done admiring, we have a job to do. We’re going to go fix this patient’s leg.”
Sadie moved toward the door, opening it for her with an unnecessarily charming smile. “Lead the way, Dr. Torres.”
Callie walked past her quickly, muttering, “Bailey is never assigning me residents again.”
The OR lights flooded the room in bright, clinical white as Callie adjusted the traction and exposed the femur. The fracture was ugly—splintered into too many pieces for comfort. “Okay, Dr. Harris,” she said, steady and authoritative. “Talk me through your plan.”
Sadie, on the opposite side of the table, stared down at the fracture with brows drawn together. “We need to restore alignment first. The larger fragments need reduction before we start stabilising.”
“Good,” Callie nodded. “And what are we using for fixation?”
Sadie paused just a little too long. “An intramedullary—”
“No,” Callie said gently but firmly. “Look at the fracture pattern again.” She tapped a gloved finger against the site. “What makes a nail less effective here?”
Sadie stared a little too long at the mess of bone. “Well, um…”
“Locking plate,” Callie continued evenly. “We need more precise control over the fragments. The nail won’t give us the stability we need in a shatter like this”
Sadie nodded, “Right.” Her eyes flicked to Callie’s hands. “You’ve got really steady hands. Like, extremely steady. Do you… practice that or?”
Callie ignored her. “Pass me the reduction clamp.” Sadie passed it to her, fingers brushing Callie’s glove in a way that was definitely not accidental. Callie didn’t flinch, didn’t pause—she simply guided the first fragment into alignment, eyes fixed on the anatomy as if nothing else existed.
“Now,” Callie said, “tell me the biggest risk when plating a comminuted fracture.”
“Nonunion,” Sadie replied. “Or malunion. Depending on how well we align.”
“Correct,” Callie said. “So how do we avoid that?”
Sadie hesitated, considering. “Respect the soft tissue envelope. Don’t strip the periosteum.”
“Good,” Callie murmured, drilling in the first screw. “Very good.”
Sadie tilted her head, watching Callie work. “You know,” she said softly, “it’s kind of unfair.”
“Mm?” Callie didn’t look up.
“You being this talented and looking…” Sadie’s eyes travelled over Callie’s focus, her hands, her shoulders. “…like that.”
Callie reached for another screw as if Sadie hadn’t spoken at all. “Measure twice,” she said calmly. “Tell me why.”
Sadie sighed dramatically at being ignored. “To ensure the plate is properly aligned with the cortical surface and we don’t torque the bone.”
“There you go.” Callie drilled the second screw. “Perfect.” Callie aligned the first fragment. “Complication risk?”
Sadie opened her mouth—then clearly realised she had no idea. So she leaned forward slightly and murmured, “Hard to remember the textbook answer when you’re so compelling to watch, the way you handle the tools.”
Callie froze mid-motion. Sadie handed her the next screw, this time surprisingly competent. “So… distal screw next?”
Callie blinked. She hadn’t expected a correct answer. “Yes,” she said begrudgingly. “Good.”
Sadie grinned like she’d somehow earned praise for the flirting and the surgical answer. “See? We make a great team.”
“We do not.”
“But we could.”
Callie closed her eyes for a brief, tortured second. “Just… drill the screw, Harris.”
“Yes, Dr. Torres,” Sadie said sweetly, stepping into place with exaggerated confidence.
Though Callie didn’t say it out loud, the slight twitch in her brow made it very clear: Sadie Harris was going to be a long, long rotation.
Addison spotted Meredith at the nurse’s station long before Meredith noticed her—head down, brow pinched, lips pursed in that adorable way she got when she was concentrating way too hard.
Perfect.
She sauntered up with two coffees in hand and slid one across the counter, leaning in to brush a slow, lingering kiss against Meredith’s temple. “Thought you might need saving,” Addison murmured, voice low enough to be just for her. “Or at least caffeinating.”
Meredith’s shoulders dropped instantly, tension melting. “You’re a goddess,” she said, taking a sip and closing her eyes like Addison had just given her pure salvation. “My day just got significantly better, thank you.”
“Such flattery,” Addison teased, setting down her files with a flourish. “Dangerous move around me.”
Meredith didn’t even look up from her chart. “Why? Because it works?” The tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth absolutely ruined Addison’s ability to breathe for a second.
“Well,” Addison said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Meredith’s ear and letting her fingers trail down her neck for just a beat too long, “I’m easily seduced by praise.”
Meredith’s pen faltered. Her eyes lifted—slowly—meeting Addison’s with a warmth that made the hallway air feel thicker. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Addison forced herself to focus, placing her hand lightly on the counter close to Meredith’s—close enough their pinkies brushed. “Quiet day?” she asked softly.
“Very,” Meredith replied, sipping her coffee again. “Honestly it’s nice. No disasters. No apocalyptic surgeries. Just… normal.”
“Normal is highly underrated,” Addison agreed, watching her, savouring her. “Gives us time to think about things.”
“Such as?” Meredith asked, distracted but intrigued.
“The wedding,” Addison said, casually but not casually. “Have you thought about what season you might want?”
Meredith blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Seasoning?” she repeated, confused. “Like… for the food—?”
Addison laughed, head tipping back. “Season, Mer. Time of year.”
“Oh.” Meredith straightened, the little thinking-crease forming between her brows again. “Right. Sorry. I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been… preoccupied.”
“With what, exactly?” Addison asked, though she already knew—she could see it in the way Meredith’s lips twitched.
Meredith leaned in just a little, eyes glinting. “All the private engagement celebrations,” she whispered, and Addison’s face flushed instantly—proof enough that Meredith had absolutely done that on purpose. Addison opened her mouth to retort—something witty, something vaguely inappropriate—but—
“Death!”
A voice cut dramatically through the hallway, startling both of them. Meredith didn’t even have time to turn fully before she was ambushed— a flash of blonde, cool hands on her neck, and then a mouth crushing against hers.
Her brain lagged a full second behind her body. Shock. Recognition. Disbelief. Then instinct kicked in and she shoved, hard, palms planted against familiar shoulders. “Sadie,” Meredith gasped, stumbling back, her hand shot up to wipe her mouth. “What the—what are you doing here?” Her eyes flicked instantly to Addison.
Oh god. Addison’s expression looked like it could peel paint.
Sadie, completely unfazed by the murder in the air, tilted her head with a bright grin. “Didn’t you hear? Mercy West evacuated half their weirdos into your program. Surprise! I’m a resident here now.”
“You’re—here? Since when?” Meredith stammered.
“Sorry,” Addison cut in, voice deceptively calm—dangerously calm. “What exactly is going on? And who are you?”
Sadie stuck out her hand, breezy and charming like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of Addison’s day. “Sadie Harris. And you are…?”
Addison took her hand. Firm.
Too firm. Sadie winced.
“Dr. Addison Montgomery,” she said, sweet like poison. Her gaze flicked once to Meredith, then locked back onto Sadie with surgical precision. “Meredith’s fiancée.”
“Oh.” Sadie’s eyes widened, flicking between the two of them. “Oh, wow. That’s… spicy.” She laughed, unbothered. “Bit awkward, yeah?”
“Isn’t it just,” Addison said, her smile edged like a scalpel.
Meredith slid her hand into Addison’s, squeezing gently. It softened Addison’s posture—but only slightly. Meredith could still feel the fury rolling off her, it was like standing next to a volcano in heels.
“Sadie and I… travelled Europe together,” Meredith said, carefully. “Before med school. I didn’t know you were going into the surgical program”
Sadie shrugged, eyes glinting, playing coy. “Crazier things have happened. Maybe we could catch up later?” She asked it directly to Meredith and full of innuendo, blatantly ignoring Addison.
“I don’t think -,” Meredith started—but her sentence was broken by the sound of Sadie’s pager.
“I gotta run,” Sadie moved to go, but not before she reached out and caught Meredith’s hand. Soft. Intentional. Too intimate. Meredith yanked her hand away like she’d touched fire.
“Can we talk later?,” Sadie whispered, eyes searching her face. “Please, Death."
For a moment—just a moment—Meredith froze. Old history tugged. Old ghosts stirred. Then, in one breath, she shut it down. “It’s Dr. Grey while you’re in this hospital,” Meredith said, voice steady even though adrenaline still buzzed under her skin. “And you need to answer your page.”
Sadie swallowed, nodded once, and hurried off. Silence settled. Heavy. Charged.
Meredith turned toward Addison—who was standing very still, jaw tight, eyes dark and stormy. Meredith suddenly realised she probably had a lot of explaining to do.
Meredith didn’t even get a word out before Addison spun on her heel and strode down the hall. She followed without hesitation—past nurses, past residents turning to stare, past Lexie mouthing oh shit as they went by.
Addison pushed into her office, crossing the floor quickly. As Meredith closed the door quietly, Addison leaned back against her desk, arms folded, eyes sharp. “Well?” Addison said, one perfect eyebrow lifting. “What was that? Don’t tell me she’s a secret wife you’ve been hiding from me our whole relationship.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, you are dramatic sometimes.” She walked straight to Addison and gently took her face between her palms. “You know very well you’re the only woman who’ll ever get the title of being my wife.”
That did it. Addison’s expression cracked, the fury easing into something softer, warmer—still a storm, but now one that was shifting into rain instead of lightning. She leaned forward and captured Meredith’s mouth in a slow, grounding kiss. Meredith melted into it, fingers sliding into red hair, wanting to erase any doubt she’d felt even for a second.
After a moment, Addison pulled back but stayed close, eyes searching hers. “Explain,” she murmured.
Meredith took a breath. “Do you remember when we first got together—when we told each other all our worst dating disasters?”
Addison frowned thoughtfully. “Yes.”
“And do you remember the story I told you about Amsterdam? About the woman I was with—the one I walked in on cheating on me?”
Addison froze. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in realisation. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “That’s -” A beat. “No.” Another beat. “That’s her?”
Meredith nodded grimly. Addison slapped a hand dramatically over her mouth in full scandalised gasp.
“That was Sadie?! Meredith! You left out the part where she was a feral golden retriever with a death wish who kisses other people’s fiancées in hospitals!”
Meredith sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” She frowned, “I hoped I never would.”
Addison blinked, staring at her in disbelief. “Well,” she said finally, pushing off the desk and circling her arms around Meredith’s waist, “that’s one hell of an entrance.”
“She ambushed me,” Meredith said quickly. “Addison, you saw—I shoved her away.”
Addison nodded, brushing her thumb over Meredith’s cheek. “I know. I know you did. I’m not angry at you.”
Meredith raised a brow. “So… who are you angry at?”
Addison’s voice dropped to a low mutter. “Sadie. Obviously. Kissing you like she still has the right.”
Meredith laughed and rested her forehead against Addison’s. “She doesn’t.”
“Oh, I know,” Addison whispered, lips brushing Meredith’s. “Because you’re mine.”
Addison barely finished her sentence before Meredith kissed her again—quick, then slower, deeper, melting away the lingering static in the air. Addison sighed into it, her hands sliding up Meredith’s back, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush.
Another kiss.
And another, lingering, just because they could.
When they finally broke apart, breath warm between them, Addison rested her forehead against Meredith’s. “Okay,” she murmured, voice softer now, “So why do you think she is here?”
Meredith’s brows pulled together. “Addison, you were standing right there. I didn’t exactly have time room for a heartfelt Q&A.”
Addison let out a reluctant laugh, rolling her eyes. “Fair. She was a bit busy… shoving her tongue down your throat like she was checking your tonsils."
“That’s not happening again,” Meredith said quickly. “And she’s not getting between us.”
Addison’s eyes softened, the last of her irritation melting. “Good. But the only thing I care about is what she might want from you,” She brushed a stray curl behind Meredith’s ear. “It’s been years since you parted ways, I just hope that she doesn’t cause trouble for you. Not after everything.”
“She won’t,” Meredith assured her. “I won’t let her.”
Addison hummed, considering—but her fingers curled around Meredith’s hip like she already believed her. Meredith leaned in again, kissing her softly this time, slow and certain. “I’m yours,” she whispered against Addison’s lips. “You know that.”
Addison kissed her back, just as certain. “I do.” For a moment, the whole Sadie situation felt very small compared to the weight of Addison’s hands on her, the warmth of her breath, and the simple fact that they always found each other.
A sharp knock cut through the soft quiet of their moment. Addison sighed against Meredith’s lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Meredith gave her a sympathetic grimace as Addison called, “Come in.”
Jo stuck her head through the door, cheeks pink like she’d walked in on something she absolutely shouldn’t witness. “Sorry-”she stammered. “But one of your patients is having complications. We need you.”
Addison closed her eyes for half a second, exhaling the kind of sigh only surgeons truly master—equal parts frustration, duty, and of course this is happening now. She leaned in and whispered a quiet, regretful, “Sorry,” against Meredith’s lips before giving her one last kiss—quick but full of promise. Then she straightened, professional mask snapping back into place.
“Let’s go Wilson,” she said to Jo, brushing past her and disappearing down the hall like a red-haired hurricane. The door shut behind them, and Meredith was left alone in Addison’s office, the faint smell of her perfume still hanging in the air.
Meredith waited a beat.
Leaving this room meant stepping back into a hospital currently drowning in one story: Meredith Grey kissed by mystery blonde in front of her fiancée.
She could practically feel the gossip fog rolling in from every hallway, but she wasn’t going to hide. She squared her shoulders, straightened her scrubs, and walked out of the office like she owned the place.
Ten minutes later, chart in hand, checking on a post-op patient from the pit, she sensed someone hovering.
Cristina. Of course.
Standing three feet away, arms crossed, expression blank except for the unmistakable spark of chaos-loving curiosity. Before Meredith could even open her mouth, Cristina spoke. “So,” she said. “I heard your secret girlfriend showed up, and she and Addison got into a catfight in front of Bailey and half the hospital.”
Meredith blinked. “What?”
Cristina raised a brow. “That’s the version I got. Apparently, there was hair pulling, someone got slapped and Bailey threatened to call security.”
“Oh my—Cristina.” Meredith pinched the bridge of her nose. “None of that happened.”
Cristina stared. “So you’re saying there was no fight and no secret girlfriend?” she scowled, “That’s boring.”
“I’m saying,” Meredith emphasised, “that Sadie kissed me out of nowhere, I shoved her away, Addison almost murdered her with her eyes, and Sadie got paged before Addison actually followed through.”
Cristina considered this, then nodded slowly. “That does sound more Montgomery’s style.”
Meredith frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cristina smirked. “It means Addison can be dramatic, but not that dramatic.”
Meredith groaned. “Great. Perfect. I love that this is what the hospital thinks happened.”
Cristina patted her shoulder once, clinically. “Look on the bright side. If Addison had actually fought someone for you, that would’ve been three kinds of hot.”
“Cristina!”
Cristina shrugged. “What? I’m happy for you. Also mildly horrified. But mostly happy.” Then she leaned in slightly. “So… is this Sadie person going to be a problem?”
Meredith’s jaw tightened. “No,” she said firmly.
Cristina nodded. “Good. Because if she becomes a problem, Addison will destroy her. And honestly? I’d sell tickets.”
An hour after her shift should’ve ended, Addison finally stepped out of the patient’s room, stripping off her gown and rubbing a hand over her face. The delivery had been rough—shoulder dystocia, cord compression, the whole horror-show—but the baby was pink and screaming now, mother stable, crisis averted.
She was exhausted, pumped with adrenaline, and—thanks to the earlier hallway disaster—still simmering with leftover emotions she hadn’t had time to process. She barely made it ten feet before she noticed the looks.
Nurses whispering.
Two residents breaking off a conversation the second she walked by.
One intern scurrying away like she was a wild animal.
Addison slowed, brow furrowing. “…What the hell?”
She turned the corner—just as Callie Torres practically sprinted up to her. “Addison,” Callie said, slightly out of breath, “I came as fast as I could.”
Addison blinked. “Callie, what? Did something happen?”
“No—well—yes—kind of—no,” Callie said, waving her hands around uselessly. “Okay, this is coming out wrong. Are you okay?”
“I’m… confused,” Addison answered honestly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Callie’s expression turned pained. “Because the whole hospital thinks Meredith was cheating on you.”
Addison stared. Jaw dropping. Eyes widening. “I—WHAT?”
Callie flinched. “I knew that wasn’t true! But people are saying the mystery blonde is her girlfriend, who is apparently my resident, and they made out in front of you, and you stormed off, and—”
“Stormed off?” Addison sputtered. “I had a woman in labour with a shoulder dystocia! I didn’t storm off—I did my job!”
Callie put her hands up defensively. “I know! I know. I’m just telling you what’s out there.”
Addison rubbed her temples. “This hospital is full of degenerate children.”
“Welcome to Seattle Grace,” Callie muttered.
Before Addison could reply, Lexie appeared at the end of the hallway, looking absolutely done with humanity. “There you are.” She marched toward them, fuming. “Okay, I am sick of the rumours going around about my sister.”
Addison and Callie exchanged a glance. Lexie stopped in front of them, hands on hips, glaring like a tiny, furious owl. “She did not cheat,” Lexie said loudly. “She did not kiss anyone. She did not—what was it—‘get slapped in a supply closet, by Addison in jealous rage’—who even made that up?!”
Callie raised her hand slightly. “That one was Andrew. He’s an idiot.”
Lexie nodded sharply. “Exactly. Meredith loves you,” she said, looking Addison dead in the eyes. “She loves you more than she loves oxygen. And if anyone suggests otherwise, they can answer to me.”
Addison blinked. Callie whispered, “She’ll follow through, I've seen it with Mark.”
Lexie continued her tirade. “Also, if anyone calls my sister a cheater again, I swear to god I am stealing all of Bailey’s scalpels and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“LEXIE,” Callie hissed.
“What?!” Lexie threw her arms up. “They’re tarnishing her HONOUR.”
Addison pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. First—thank you. Both of you. Second—this is ridiculous.”
“Tell me about it,” Callie sighed. “Someone told me they were making bets on whether you’d throw your engagement ring at her.”
Addison froze. “They are betting on our relationship now?!”
Lexie nodded gravely. “Yes. I confiscated a betting sheet.”
“Where did you put it?” Callie asked.
“In my locker. I’m keeping it for evidence.”
Addison took a long, deep inhale through her nose. “I need to find Meredith,” she said, jaw set. “Before this hospital drives me into an aneurysm.”
Callie patted her shoulder. “Good luck. Also, if you need backup, I’m around.”
Lexie cracked her knuckles. “And if someone needs to be educated, I’m around too.”
Addison stared at them both. “…How did I end up with a cheer squad?”
Callie shrugged. “Love does weird things to people.”
Lexie beamed. “We’re rooting for you!”
With that, Addison squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and started down the hall toward wherever her fiancée was—ready to correct every misleading, infuriating rumour in her path.
Sadie spotted Addison storming down the hallway before Addison spotted her—and that was her first mistake. The blonde practically glided into Addison’s path, hands tucked into her lab coat pockets like she was taking a leisurely stroll on a beach and not detonating several social grenades inside a functioning hospital.
“Dr. Montgomery,” Sadie purred. “Rough day?”
Addison stopped dead. Her jaw clenched so hard it nearly cracked. “Move,” she snapped.
Sadie tsk’d softly. “You know, you shouldn’t take it out on me. Long-distance heartbreak is rough.”
Addison blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, you know,” Sadie sighed dramatically. “Meredith and I—we’ve always had this… connection. It surprised me too when she kissed me earlier.”
Addison’s voice dropped to a low, terrifying whisper. “She did not kiss you”
Sadie shrugged. “That’s not what people are saying.”
“Oh really?” Addison growled. “And who exactly is telling them that?”
Sadie smiled. “People talk.”
“Because you started it,” Addison said, eyes narrowing.
Sadie’s lips curved. “You can’t blame me if history repeats itself.”
Addison took a step forward, absolute murder in her eyes—and then suddenly a hand closed around her arm.
Cristina.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Cristina said, dragging Addison back like she was wrangling an angry Rottweiler. “Okay, Satan’s Barbie, step back.”
Sadie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, you heard me,” Cristina said, waving her off. “Scram. Shoo. Go mispronounce ‘sphygmomanometer’ somewhere else.”
Sadie bristled. “I don’t know what Meredith told you—”
“Oh, she told me everything,” Cristina said. “And by everything, I mean enough to know you’re the Amsterdam disaster ex who can’t read a room and kisses people like a raccoon stealing food.”
Sadie’s jaw dropped. “I—”
“Nope,” Cristina cut in. “Don’t care. Also Torres is looking for you because apparently you misfiled a chart and almost killed a patient’s discharge process, so—I’d run.”
Sadie paled but had enough sense to disappear down the hall. Cristina turned to Addison, dusting off her hands like she’d just taken out the trash. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Addison blinked, slightly dazed. “I… thank you?”
Cristina nodded. “Meredith’s my person. And you’re… whatever. Her person squared. So I’m invested.”
Addison exhaled, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. “Has the whole hospital been like this?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cristina said cheerfully. “I heard one version where you and Meredith had a duel with scalpels.”
Addison stared. “A duel.”
“Yeah, very Three Musketeers. Meredith won, obviously.”
“Cristina—”
“Oh, and someone else said Sadie was pregnant with Meredith’s baby.”
Addison blinked. “WH—”
“I shut that one down,” Cristina said. “On anatomical grounds. Also because the stupidity offended me.”
Addison pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I need to find Meredith before this escalates.”
Cristina smirked. “Oh, it already escalated. Someone put your relationship status on the whiteboard in the resident’s lounge. Half the interns are taking notes like it’s a betting pool slash emotional TED Talk.”
Addison groaned. “Perfect. Exactly what I needed today.”
Meredith was halfway down the main corridor looking for Addison, when she saw her striding toward her with the speed and intensity of someone who’d just been personally insulted by every nurse, resident, and ghost of the hospital.
Everyone else saw it too.
The hallway went silent like someone had hit a mute button.
Addison stopped in front of Meredith.
Meredith swallowed. “Hi.”
Addison grabbed her face and kissed her. Not a peck. Not a soft one. A this-is-my-fiancée-you-gossip-gremlins, watch-and-learn kiss.
Someone gasped.
Someone dropped a clipboard.
Alex muttered, “Jesus Christ,” from somewhere in the background.
Addison pulled away, breathless, eyes blazing. “For the record,” she announced loudly to the entire hall, “Meredith Grey has never cheated on me. Not now. Not ever. And anyone saying otherwise can consider this myth debunked.”
Meredith blinked. “...Wow.”
Addison grabbed her hand. “We’re engaged. We’re in love. And if anyone has a problem with that—” she turned to glare at the crowd, “—Cristina will handle you.”
Cristina saluted from behind them like she’d been waiting her whole life for that moment. “Consider yourself warned.”
Meredith laughed and tugged Addison back towards her, kissing her again, softer this time but just as deep. The hallway erupted—whistles, cheering, someone yelling “GET A ROOM,” an intern crying because “romance is REAL!”
Addison rested her forehead against Meredith’s. “You okay?” she murmured.
Meredith nodded. “Now I am.”
Addison squeezed her hand. “Good. Because I’m not letting Sadie, gossip, or a single idiot in this building get between us.”
Meredith smiled. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m pretty attached to you.”
Then Cristina yelled, “WE KNOW. WE’VE ALL SEEN THE RING. IT’S BLINDING. MOVE ALONG.”
The hallway finally settled. The interns and residents scurried off, muttering to themselves, while the more senior staff pretended nothing had happened. The echo of Cristina’s yelling still bounced faintly off the walls. Meredith and Addison found a quiet corner near the supply closet—of all places—and sank onto an empty gurney, shoulders touching. The adrenaline of confrontation slowly ebbed, leaving behind the pulse of exhaustion and relief.
Meredith exhaled, shaking her head. “You know… if I wasn’t already in therapy, I’d need it after today.”
Addison’s lips twitched, the hint of a laugh there, but it didn’t fully come. She pressed a hand against Meredith’s knee, a grounding gesture. “Yeah,” she said softly, her eyes flicking toward the hallway where whispers still lingered, “Its just…this is our life, and now your reputation is apparently on the floor of the main corridor.”
Meredith leaned her head against Addison’s shoulder. “Well, at least we’re dramatic together.”
Addison let out a humourless laugh, the kind that still carried warmth. “Dramatic doesn’t cover it. Insane. Utterly insane.”
Meredith chuckled softly. “Insanely ours, though. I kind of like it.”
Addison glanced down at her, eyes softened, voice low. “Me too. But… lets not let anyone mess with us, okay? Not Sadie. Not gossip. Not—” She hesitated, then smirked faintly, “—even Bailey on a particularly righteous day.”
Meredith laughed, nudging her with her shoulder. “Deal. I promise. And if anyone does, they’ll have to go through both of us.”
Addison finally allowed herself a small, real smile, leaning in to press her forehead against Meredith’s. “Good. Because you’re mine, Meredith Grey, and no one’s touching that.”
Meredith kissed her temple, murmuring, “and you’re mine, Dr. Montgomery. Always.”
For a moment, they just sat there, letting the quiet and each other soak in, a little sanctuary in the middle of the chaos that was Seattle Grace. “C’mon,” Meredith stood, pulling Addison up with her. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 6
Notes:
#sorrynotsorry
Chapter Text
“Meredith…” Addison moaned, the sound torn from her as Meredith’s hips rolled down against her own. Her hands clutched at bare skin, fingers digging into the curve of Meredith’s waist. “We’re—” Her breath hitched sharply when Meredith’s teeth bit into her neck, slow and claiming. “We’re going to be late.”
Meredith laughed against her throat, low and sinful. “No we’re not.” She lifted her head just enough for Addison to see the dark, hungry look in her eyes before she stretched her body out—slow, deliberate—until she was pressed fully against Addison from chest to thigh. The warmth, the weight, the slick heat between them made Addison’s breath break.
“No?” Addison managed, voice already unsteady. Her hands slid down Meredith’s sides, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her hips.
“No.” Meredith kissed her—just a brush, just enough to tease. Then she kissed her again, lower this time, mouth trailing heat along Addison’s jaw and down her throat. “I set the alarm an hour early.”
Before Addison could react, Meredith was already moving lower, lips dragging down her chest, tongue following the lines she knew made Addison tremble. When she settled between Addison’s thighs, Addison’s head tipped back against the pillow with a helpless sound.
“Oh…” The word barely made it out. Her fingers threaded into Meredith’s hair instinctively, hips lifting into her touch. “So you planned for this.”
Meredith smirked against her skin—Addison felt it, a slow curve of lips against the inside of her thigh. “I hoped for it,” she murmured, voice warm and wicked. “I knew I’d wake up wanting you.”
Addison’s breath stuttered. Their room felt too hot, the air too thick, her own pulse pounding in her ears. “Meredith,” she whispered, the name already sounding like a plea. Meredith looked up at her then, mouth inches from where Addison needed her most, blue eyes dark and focused entirely on her.
“I love you,” Addison breathed out, the confession pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere soft.
Meredith’s hands slid up her thighs, spreading her open just a little more. “I love you too,” she whispered—right before she lowered her mouth to her, slow, sure, intentional.
Addison’s gasp broke instantly, hips jerking, her hands tightening in Meredith’s hair. She pulled her closer without thinking, without restraint, shameless in the way her body reached for her.
Meredith moaned against her—God, Addison felt that—and any care about being on time vanished the moment heat and pressure and tongue sent her spiralling. As Meredith worked her with the kind of focus that made Addison’s vision spark white, one thought threaded hazily through her mind:
This was exactly how she wanted to start every day for the rest of her life.
The elevator doors slid open and Meredith stepped out first, Addison right behind her, their shoulders brushing in a way that felt intentionally accidental. Meredith hid a small smile while Addison didn’t bother hiding hers. “You know,” Addison murmured as they walked down the hallway, “for someone who claims she’s not a morning person, you were very… energetic today.”
Meredith shot her a look. “You inspired me.”
“Oh, did I?” Addison asked, her voice low, smug, warm. “Well I’ll be taking full credit for your good mood today then”
Meredith’s fingers brushed Addison’s briefly—quick, subtle, electric. “You’re insufferable.”
“You adore me.”
“I do,” Meredith said softly, opening the door to the attending's lounge.
Inside, it was quiet. Early. Just the two of them. Meredith crossed to her locker while Addison stood in the middle of the room for a moment, watching her with an expression that was too inappropriate for a work place.
Their routines overlapped comfortably: Meredith pulling on her scrub top, Addison tying her hair up, Meredith reaching past her to grab her stethoscope, Addison stepping closer instead of away.
“You have something” Addison said gently, and without waiting, she reached forward and smoothed the edge of Meredith’s coat collar with deliberate softness.
Meredith’s breath caught. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” Addison asked, voice innocent and impossibly not.
Meredith kissed her. Quick, warm, barely a brush—and Addison chased it before it faded, lips parting Meredith's like a question.
The door banged open.
Bailey stopped so abruptly she nearly bounced off the doorframe. “Oh—nope. Nope. It is too early for whatever… this is.”
Meredith stepped back, cheeks faintly pink but eyes steady. Addison merely smiled like she’d been caught reorganising a cabinet, not making out with her fiancée before rounds.
“Dr. Bailey,” Meredith greeted, “We’re doing Mrs. Carver’s case together?”
“Yeah,” Bailey answered, eyes fixed up at the ceiling like she’d sworn a vow never to make eye contact with either of them again. “Yes. I need you for that. Preferably without, you know—” She waved a vague hand between them. “Tongue.”
Addison snorted.
Bailey pointed at her. “Do not laugh at me, Montgomery. I am fragile before 8 a.m.”
Addison lifted both hands in surrender, smile very much not surrendered. “Good luck,” Addison said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Meredith’s cheek—the kind that technically adhered to HR guidelines if you squinted.
Meredith winked. “You too.”
Bailey muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I swear, if either of you winds up in the same room today, I’m separating you,” as Meredith followed her out the door. Addison laughed quietly once they were gone, smoothing her own coat before heading toward maternity—still wearing the ghost of Meredith’s kiss like a secret.
Addison moved through the NICU with her usual quiet precision, adjusting a monitor with one hand and scribbling into a chart with the other. The rhythmic beeps kept her calm—until a voice floated in from the doorway.
“I take a few days off and the gossip mill turns into a roman circus,” Teddy deadpanned. “Is this a hospital or a mid-season finale?”
Addison snorted before she could stop herself, glancing over her shoulder. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly did you hear?”
Teddy stepped inside, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Oh, the greatest hits. You catching Meredith with her pants down, something about eye-gouging, maybe a hair-pulling reenactment of Mean Girls. All totally believable.”
Addison let out a sigh so deep Teddy actually winced. She said nothing while she adjusted a ventilation tube, then stepped back from the incubator and finally turned to her. “Did Cristina tell you what happened?” Addison asked carefully.
Teddy’s expression flickered—something wounded crossing her face. “Cristina and I haven’t… really been talking lately.” Her voice was soft, sad. Then she straightened, brushing it off. “But we’re not unpacking my disaster right now. What happened?”
Addison gave her a long, assessing look—she’d come back to that—but answered. “Has Meredith ever mentioned someone named Sadie?”
Teddy’s nose scrunched immediately. “Oh, you mean the white-trash tornado she left somewhere in Europe?”
Addison’s eyebrows climbed, and Teddy burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Teddy said, still amused. “Yes, I know the one. She’s the reason Meredith used to break out in hives at the word ‘relationship.’ Well—before you came along.”
Addison hummed dryly and ushered Teddy out into the hallway, pulling the NICU door closed behind them. “Well… she’s here.”
“Here?” Teddy blinked. “As in Seattle?”
Addison gestured dramatically. “As in this hospital. This building. These hallways. Breathing our air.”
Teddy stared.
“She transferred from Mercy West,” Addison continued as they entered her office. She collapsed onto the couch like she’d been holding herself together by tape. “Meredith didn’t even know she’d made it through med school, let alone into surgery.”
That landed. Teddy’s jaw slackened. Addison sighed.
“Out of nowhere, she kissed Meredith in the hallway and the rest of the hospital did what they do best.”
“Exploded,” Teddy supplied, taking a seat.
“Instantly,” Addison confirmed.
Teddy leaned back, arms draped over the couch. “How’s Meredith handling it?”
“She says she’s fine,” Addison answered, unconvinced.
“She always says she’s fine,” Teddy reminded her gently.
Addison nodded, chewing her lip. “I’m not worried about us. I know she loves me. I just… I don’t want this stirring up old crap when she’s been doing the work with her trauma, with therapy… she deserves her peace.”
Teddy nodded, voice steady. “As long as Sadie keeps it professional, it’ll be fine. Meredith’s an attending. Sadie’s a resident. There are rules.”
Addison let out a humourless laugh. “Tell that to the gossip brigade. I think half the peds nurses already have theories pinned up like crime scene evidence.”
They fell into a comfortable quiet, until Addison finally reached across the cushion and took Teddy’s hand. “You want to tell me why you and Cristina aren’t talking?”
Teddy’s shoulders sagged instantly. “I feel her slipping away, and I can’t stop it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I tried giving her space… but she just took it and ran.”
“What happened?” Addison asked softly.
Teddy hesitated. “I… said I loved her, and asked her to move in.”
Addison blinked. “And she didn’t want you to?”
Teddy swallowed. “I don't know. She said she didn't want things to change.”
“Oh,” Addison murmured, understanding threading through her tone.
Teddy’s voice was small when she continued. “I think she’s scared. Scared of letting someone in again, and now she’s got an excuse to run.”
Addison wrapped both arms around her, pulling Teddy close. “No one gets through life without ghosts,” she whispered. “And Cristina’s stronger than she thinks. She just… needs time.”
Teddy closed her eyes, leaning into the comfort she’d been needing but avoiding. Addison held her—quiet, steady, hoping that whatever storm was brewing between them, they’d find their way back to each other.
Meredith knocked once on Richard’s office door, then pushed it open. Richard and Bailey were seated inside mid-conversation, both turning toward her.
“Good,” Bailey said, pointing at her. “Right on time. I was just telling the Chief about the drama you’re causing with one of our new residents.”
Meredith shut the door behind her with an exasperated sigh. “I’m not causing anything. I’m just… caught in the hurricane.”
Richard gestured her closer, concern lining his face. “Meredith, what’s going on?”
Meredith sat, posture straight but guarded. “Sadie and I have… history.” She paused, trying to choose the least chaotic words. “Old history. Pre–med school history. We haven’t seen each other in years.”
Bailey crossed her arms. “Yet she showed up here kissing you in the hallway like she was auditioning for a telenovela.”
Meredith rubbed her forehead. “I know. Trust me, I know. And Addison’s reaction clearly just—” She waved a hand. “—fed Sadie’s need for attention. She thrives on theatrics; she always has. The reaction she got on day one? It’ll keep her buzzing for a while.”
Richard sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Meredith… you understand the position we’re in, don’t you?”
Meredith nodded slowly. “Because her father,” Richard continued. “is a very prominent member of the hospital board. Whatever personal business exists between you and Dr. Harris cannot—will not—interfere with her education. Am I clear?”
Meredith didn’t flinch. “Crystal. Addison and I are professionals. We know how to do our jobs without getting pulled into her crazy.”
Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Still. She’s slotted to rotate on both your services soon. If she’s going to be a problem, now’s the time to say it.”
“She won’t be,” Meredith said firmly. “She’ll lose interest once people stop paying attention. Drama doesn’t survive without an audience.”
Bailey snorted. “Well, she picked the right hospital then.”
Meredith let out a dry laugh despite herself. “I’m fine. Addie’s fine. We’re focused. She can stir whatever pot she wants—just not in my OR.”
Richard studied her for another moment, then nodded. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear.”
Bailey gestured to the door. “Alright. Go. Try not to let the circus find you again—because I am not handing out popcorn.”
Meredith rolled her eyes but smiled faintly as she stood. She slipped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind her—bracing herself for whatever the day decided to bring next.
The OR board was quiet. Meredith stood in front of it with her arms folded, eyes fixed but unfocused. She had an hour before her next surgery — enough time to breathe, but not enough time to overthink, which was exactly how she liked it.
Footsteps approached, then Derek stepped beside her. He didn’t speak — just stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, reading the board like he actually cared who was in OR 4.
Meredith sighed without turning. “Don’t ask.”
Derek huffed a short laugh. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She finally glanced at him. “You look like you want to.”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” he said, smiling as he adjusted his scrub cap. “But I’ve spent my entire morning with your sister in my OR. And Lexie? She does not rant quietly.”
Meredith groaned. “God.” She covered her face with both hands. “I’m going to kill her.”
“I’d caution against that,” Derek said lightly. “We’re short-staffed as it is.”
She dropped her hands, exhaling. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t push, didn’t tilt his head or soften his voice or do that overly concerned thing he did. He just nodded once. “Okay.”
They stood that way for a moment, staring at the board as surgeons and nurses passed behind them in muted chaos.
Derek’s voice dropped, quiet and different. “Come find me toward the end of your shift.”
Meredith looked at him sharply. He kept his eyes on the board. “I have some information you asked for, about options.”
Something in her chest tightened — not painful, just… real. “Thank you,” she said, voice low, sincere.
He gave the smallest nod. “You’re welcome.”
A page crackled overhead, calling Derek to scrub in. He adjusted his cap again and started down the hall. Then, half-turning back, he added gently: “And Meredith? You know you’re not alone in this, right?”
Meredith didn’t trust herself to speak, but she nodded — small, tight, grateful.
Derek disappeared into the OR corridor, and Meredith stared at the board again, suddenly aware of the hour ahead of her. The silence felt a little less heavy than before.
Meredith settled into one of the chairs in the gallery overlooking OR 2. Addison was already elbow-deep in a hysterectomy, precise and fluid as always. Jo stood at her side, retractors in hand, looking half-focused on the surgery and half-annoyed at the way her attending kept glancing upward.
Because every few minutes, Addison’s eyes skated toward the gallery. Just for a second. Just long enough. Meredith couldn’t help it—her lips curved, and Addison, the infuriating show-off, would tilt her head or send a tiny, sexy wink her way.
From below, Jo groaned audibly. “Seriously? We’re doing that during surgery?” she muttered.
Addison didn’t even look at her. “Clamp,” she said sweetly, which somehow sounded like Wilson, hush.
Meredith snorted and tried (failed) to look neutral. She was watching the gentle sweep of Addison’s hand when she heard the soft shift of footsteps behind her. Her shoulders tensed instantly—automatic, sharp—but she forced her eyes to stay forward. Then a quiet voice said, “Relax. It’s just me.”
Meredith exhaled.
Arizona slid into the row behind her, leaning forward, arms resting on the back of Meredith’s chair. They watched in silence for a while. The OR hum filled the space—monitors, suction, Addison’s low voice giving instructions. Finally Arizona nodded toward the surgery happening below them. “She’s good.”
“She’s the best,” Meredith said softly.
Arizona smiled. “Yeah. She is.”
Another pause—comfortable, steady. But Meredith could feel Arizona watching her. Not judging. Just… noticing. Arizona always noticed. “So,” Arizona said eventually, “I was going to ask about the—”
“If you say ‘the Sadie thing,’ I will jump out a window,” Meredith muttered.
Arizona blinked. “Not what I was going to say, but… noted.”
Meredith sagged back in her seat. “Sorry. Long week.”
“Long few years,” Arizona said gently. “And actually, I wanted to talk about something else.” Meredith turned just enough to meet her eyes. “Addison told me about the award,” Arizona said.
Meredith looked away again. “Arizona—”
“I know,” Arizona said, firm but kind. “You don’t want it. You think it represents something you don’t agree with. But that isn’t what medals are for.”
Meredith huffed under her breath. “Then what are they for?”
“Recognition,” Arizona answered. “For what you did. Who you were out there. The people who are alive because of you.”
Meredith’s jaw tightened. “I… didn’t save everyone.”
“No one does,” Arizona whispered, a gentle weight in her words. “But you saved who you could, and you did it under conditions most surgeons here couldn’t even imagine.” Then her voice softened even more, the edges rounding with something older, deeper. “I wish someone like you had been there when my brother was deployed.”
Meredith froze.
Arizona didn’t look away; she wasn’t tearing up—she was too practiced for that—but something inside her had shifted open. “He didn’t have surgeons who knew trauma medicine like you. Who could improvise like you. Who could… who could keep someone alive in the middle of nowhere with half the resources.” She took a careful breath. “I think about it sometimes. How maybe things would’ve been different.”
Meredith felt the words like a hand closing around her heart. Gentle. Grieving.
“I’m not saying that to guilt you,” Arizona added. “I’m saying it because what you did matters. You matter. Even if you can’t see it yet.” Meredith swallowed, throat tight. Arizona leaned forward again. “Your mind clings to the trauma. The guilt. The failures. That’s what trauma does. But sometimes someone else has to remind you of the truth.”
“Which is?” Meredith asked, barely a whisper.
“That you were extraordinary,” Arizona said. “That you came home, and that you’re still saving people here, everyday.”
Meredith didn’t answer—couldn’t, not without something breaking loose in her chest. Her eyes drifted back to Addison, who chose that moment to glance up again, her eyes landing on the two of them.
Suddenly Meredith was grateful she was here. With Arizona. Watching Addison. Breathing.
Arizona tapped the back of her chair. “Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.” Meredith nodded once. “Good.” Arizona leaned back. “Now, can you two stop having eye sex while Addison is inside a uterus? Poor Wilson is just trying to learn.”
Meredith huffed a laugh. “No promises.” Below, Addison absolutely winked at her again. Meredith, despite everything, smiled back.
“Well now, look at that,” Richard murmured, a soft note of pride threading through his voice as he gently tapped the newly pink kidney. “Good as new.”
Meredith’s eyes crinkled above her mask. “You always sound impressed, Chief. Even after all this time.”
Richard huffed. “You make me sound ancient, Meredith.”
She lifted a shoulder, hands already transitioning into the practiced rhythm of closing. “If the scrub cap fits…”
The circulating nurse snorted before catching herself, and Richard shot a half-hearted glare across the table. “Careful now,” he warned. “You keep that up and I’ll start joining you on every surgery.”
Meredith laughed under her breath. “You’re always welcome in my OR.” Then quieter, so that only he could hear: “You don’t have to keep an eye on me, you know.”
Richard stilled for a beat, his gaze lifting to hers. There was affection there, as always—old and steady—but layered now with pride… and something heavier, more reflective. “I’m not watching you,” he said at last, clearing his throat. “Sometimes even this old fossil likes taking a trip down memory lane.”
Meredith tilted her head, puzzled.
“You remind me of your mother sometimes,” Richard said softly, his tone shifting—gentler, almost reverent. He watched her fingers dance through her final sutures. “Brilliant. Steady. Terrifying when you choose to be.” A breath, a oft chuckle. “Ellis would’ve been so proud of you, Meredith. Proud of what you’ve built. Proud of what you survived.”
Meredith’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly. Praise still landed awkwardly, especially praise tied to Ellis Grey. “I don’t know about that,” she murmured.
“I do,” he said firmly. No hesitation, no doubt. “I’m certain of it.”
She tied off the last stitch and stepped back, letting the nurses take over. When she looked up at him again, there was something vulnerable in her expression—something softened, almost young. “Only because I had you to guide me,” she said quietly, meaning it more than she expected.
Richard followed her into the scrub room. He pulled off his mask, washed his hands, and regarded her with that familiar mixture of fondness and unshakeable belief. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said. “You are brilliant, Meredith. And that brilliance isn’t something you learned.” He dried his hands slowly, thoughtfully. “You were born with it.”
He placed a warm, steady hand on her shoulder—brief, grounding, paternal—and then slipped out the door.
Meredith watched him go, something settling deep and unfamiliar in her chest. Not quite peace, but close.
“So, Meredith,” Dr. Wyatt said with a warm, steady smile. “Tell me about your week.”
Meredith gave her a flat look. “Please, let’s not pretend you haven’t heard the gossip. The hospital is basically a high school with scalpels.”
Dr. Wyatt laughed softly. “I’m a therapist, Meredith. I don’t participate in rumour mills or Chinese whispers.”
“Participate? No.” Meredith crossed her arms. “Hear things? Definitely.”
Wyatt tilted her head, unbothered. “Then why don’t you tell me what you think I should know, and we’ll start from there.”
Meredith let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Okay, so—ghost from my past, attention-seeking ex, shows up and nearly drives Addison to murder. Half the hospital now thinks I’m cheating. Which is insane. It’s Addison. Have you looked at her?” Her hands waved like she was conducting an orchestra of chaos. “I begged Derek Shepherd for a miracle fix because the last thing I want is for Addison to waste her life on someone broken, and—” she flopped back into the couch, voice sharp—“the military wants to pin a Bronze Star on me like I don’t already carry enough weight every damn day.”
Dr. Wyatt stared at her, brows climbing, and blinked. Twice.
“You did ask,” Meredith said, her gaze darted everywhere but at Wyatt.
“Well,” Wyatt finally managed, clearing her throat, “you’ve been… busy.”
Meredith barked a laugh. “Busy finds me.”
“Meredith,” Wyatt said gently, “you’re not broken. Why do you think you need fixing?”
Meredith’s eyes dropped, fingers worrying the hem of her scrub top. Her voice softened to something small. “I still have vivid dreams,” she admitted. “I startle at loud noises. And some mornings… it’s really hard to get out of bed.”
Wyatt nodded, thoughtful. “How often are you waking up because of the dreams?”
Meredith frowned, considering. “Once or twice a week, maybe.”
“And when you first came back?” Wyatt prompted.
Meredith hesitated. “…Every night,” she said quietly. “Sometimes multiple times.”
Wyatt waited until Meredith dared to look up. “That’s progress,” she said with soft conviction. “That’s healing. Not breaking.”
Meredith blinked, something shifting behind her eyes as the realisation sank in. She truly hadn’t noticed the change—because she’d been too busy surviving to notice she was recovering.
“It would be unusual if you weren’t still having dreams,” Wyatt continued. “I’m sure Dr. Hunt and Dr. Altman still have them sometimes, and they’ve been back far longer than you.” Meredith nodded, slow, thoughtful. She knew that. She’d held both Owen and Teddy through their own nightmares. Somehow she just… forgot to extend that same grace to herself.
“Now,” Wyatt said, studying her, “shall we talk about this military honour? Because I get the sense you’re not quite as conflicted as you first sounded.”
Meredith paused—Arizona’s quiet voice echoing in her memory. You saved lives. That matters. “I think I’m… good, actually,” she said, surprised at her own certainty. “A friend helped me figure some stuff out.”
Wyatt smiled. “Good. Because I think we need to unpack the part where you said Addison nearly murdered someone.”
Meredith burst out laughing—loud, unfiltered, echoing off the walls. Wyatt watched her with soft amusement, eyes crinkling.
Yes.
Meredith Grey was going to be just fine.
Chapter Text
Meredith barely made it three steps out of her patient’s room before she felt someone fall into step beside her. Too close and too familiar.
“Hey, Death.”
Her stomach dropped. Perfect. Exactly who she didn’t have the strength for. “Sadie,” she said without slowing. “Not a good time.”
Sadie matched her easily, hands buried in her pockets, casual and bright like she hadn’t spent the last week trying to pry Meredith open and pour salt into whatever she found. “I just wanted to say hello.”
“Well, you said it.” Meredith turned a corner. “Bye.”
But Sadie kept coming — persistent, inevitable, like rot. “You know,” she drawled, “it’s really impressive. You — trying to be all settled down. Stable. Domestic, even.”
Meredith stopped. Something inside her — the last fraying thread of patience, maybe — finally snapped. She turned. “What do you want?”
Sadie smirked. That smirk. The one that used to feel like understanding, like connection, like oxygen. Now it just made her feel sick.
“I want to talk,” Sadie said. “Really talk.”
“You cheated on me.” Meredith didn’t soften it. Didn’t sugarcoat it. “What is there to talk about?”
Sadie’s expression flickered — irritation? guilt? nostalgia? Then smoothed into something cruelly calm. “And you walked away like it meant nothing.”
“It meant enough for me to leave,” Meredith said. “We’ve been over a long time. Why does it matter now?”
Sadie ignored the question entirely, eyes drifting over Meredith like she was assessing a puzzle she still thought she owned. “You always act like I wrecked this… epic, tragic love story.” Her voice went syrup-sweet. “But come on, Meredith. Be honest. For once.”
Meredith clenched her jaw. Her pulse thudded in her throat.
Sadie stepped closer, voice softening — gentle in the way knives can be gentle before they slide in. “You think I cheated because I’m the bad guy. But maybe — just maybe —” her head tilted, “—if you’d actually been capable of letting me in, if you hadn’t shut down every time I tried to get close…”
She gave a tiny, careless shrug. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to look for affection somewhere else.”
The words hit like being punched underwater — silent, suffocating, impossible to escape. Meredith swallowed hard. “You didn’t cheat because I was hard to love,” she said, but the words felt thin, shaky. “You cheated because you wanted to. Because you’re good at running when things stop being fun.”
Sadie scoffed softly. “Whatever helps you rewrite history.”
Then she leaned in just enough that Meredith felt her breath against her cheek. “But when Addison gets tired of trying to crack you open, when she realises what everyone eventually realises…” Her voice dropped to a poisonous whisper. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The breath punched out of Meredith’s lungs. Shame. Fury. Old grief. New grief. All of it tangled, hot, corrosive — the same cocktail Sadie had always been able to stir in her without effort.
Meredith forced out, “You don’t know me anymore.”
Sadie pulled back, finally giving a sliver of space — but her eyes were steady, unblinking, merciless. “Oh, but I do,” she said softly. Meredith felt that one like a blade between ribs. Sadie stepped aside letting her pass—but her final words trailed after Meredith like a razor.
“I know you better than anyone ever will.”
Meredith didn’t turn, didn’t look at her, didn’t open her mouth — because if she did, she wasn’t sure whether she’d scream or break. She just walked.
Every step stiff, deliberate, mechanical. Every step a fight against the urge to crumble. Every step peeling open old wounds she’d sworn were healed. She kept walking until she was around the corner and Sadie was gone — but the words weren’t. They clung to her, heavy and poisonous, seeping into the cracks she thought she’d sealed with time, therapy, and Addison’s steady hands.
She hated—absolutely hated—that even now, after everything, Sadie could still make her bleed.
The cafeteria was unusually crowded for a late Tuesday afternoon, but Meredith, Cristina, and Addison had managed to claim a corner table — half-hidden behind a structural pillar and far enough from the lunch rush to pretend they had privacy.
Meredith pushed her fork through her salad with the vague determination of someone who didn’t actually intend to eat it. Addison sat beside her, posture straight, sipping from a mug of coffee she didn’t seem to actually taste. Cristina was across from them, feet propped on the chair next to her, watching Meredith like a scientist observing a lab rat doing something interesting.
Addison’s gaze kept flicking across the room.
Because of course she was here. Sadie Harris. Blonde. Sharp. Radiating chaos even while sitting still.
She was surrounded by a cluster of new transfers, none of whom seemed to realise they’d chosen the cafeteria’s equivalent of sitting next to a live grenade. Every now and then, Sadie’s eyes slid toward Meredith—casual, calculated, predatory.
Cristina clicked her tongue. “Okay. Spill. What’s wrong with you?”
Meredith blinked. “Nothing.”
Addison gave her a long, quiet look — one that was gentle on the surface but edged with concern. “You’ve barely spoken since this morning.”
“I’m tired,” Meredith said. “Long day.”
Cristina snorted. “Bullshit. You’ve had longer days. And you eat when you’re tired. You’re… doing that thing.” She gestured vaguely at Meredith’s face. “The thing where you go all Grey and quiet like you’re about to start brooding in a supply closet.”
Addison set her coffee down carefully. “Mer, did something happen?”
Meredith shook her head too quickly. “I said I’m fine.”
Neither of them believed her.
Cristina leaned forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Is it Sadie? Did she—”
“No,” Meredith said immediately.
Addison froze for half a second at the bold faced lie, something flickering in her expression. She reached beneath the table, brushing her fingers against Meredith’s hand. Her touch was warm, grounding — and for a second, Meredith felt her throat tighten painfully.
She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m okay.”
Cristina arched a brow. “You just said that like someone who is very much not okay.”
Addison followed Meredith’s gaze across the room — to where Sadie was pretending not to watch them, posture too stiff, attention too pointed. Addison’s mouth tightened, the smallest flare of protectiveness sharpening her features. “Did she say something to you?”
Meredith shook her head again. “It’s nothing.”
Cristina scoffed. “That’s a lie. And a bad one.”
Meredith sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She hated how brittle she felt. How obvious. She hated that Sadie still had the power to twist something inside her she thought she’d outgrown. “I’m not letting her get to me,” Meredith said, low and defensive.
Addison’s voice softened. “Then why does it feel like she already did?”
Meredith swallowed. Hard. Her chest felt too tight. She looked at Addison — at the concern in her eyes, the steady warmth of her presence — and something inside her ached, deep and furious and ashamed.
Cristina frowned. “Okay, you two are having a moment. I don’t like it. It scares me. Someone explain the emotions happening at this table before I start diagnosing aneurysms.”
Meredith let out a rough exhale, half-laugh, half-defeat. “I’m just… dealing with some stuff. That’s all.”
Cristina and Addison exchanged a look — the oh she’s lying but she’s also fragile so let’s not push her over the edge look. Addison slipped her hand fully into Meredith’s beneath the table, squeezing once, gentle and sure.
Meredith’s shoulders loosened a fraction. Her breathing steadied.
Cristina rolled her eyes. “Gross. Feelings. I’m going to get pudding.” She stood, muttering as she walked away.
Addison watched Meredith quietly for a long moment. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it,” she murmured, “I’ll be here.”
Meredith nodded, throat tight — grateful and terrified at the same time. Across the cafeteria, Sadie watched the exchange, eyes sharp, jaw tight. Meredith pretended she didn’t see. Pretended she didn’t feel the old wound throbbing.
Pretended she wasn’t still bleeding.
Cristina didn’t even wait for Meredith to finish pretending to eat. She suddenly appeared back at Meredith’s elbow like a tactical strike team and hissed, “Get up.”
Meredith blinked. “What—?”
“Up,” Cristina repeated, already hauling her out of the chair with the authority of someone who didn’t care about consent or public witnesses. “We’re going.”
Addison raised a brow. “Cristina—”
“I’m borrowing your fiancée,” Cristina said, already marching Meredith across the cafeteria. “She’ll be returned mostly intact.”
Meredith shot Addison a helpless look over her shoulder. Addison mouthed text me with a small, concerned frown. Then the door of the nearest supply closet slammed shut behind them. Cristina locked it for good measure.
Meredith sighed. “Is this an intervention? Because I don’t need—”
“Spill,” Cristina snapped. “Now.”
Meredith blinked. “I don’t—”
Cristina pointed a finger at her chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t Meredith Grey me. You’ve been vibrating like an over-caffeinated chihuahua all afternoon. Something happened. And since the only variable is Harris, I’m going to assume she did something, said something, or bared her teeth at you like the feral wombat she is.”
Meredith groaned, leaning back against a shelf of saline bags. “It was nothing.”
Cristina gave her a dead stare. “Wrong. Try again.”
Meredith ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “She ambushed me. In the hallway.”
Cristina’s eyes narrowed. “Ambushed as in ‘emotionally manipulative monologue,’ or ambushed as in ‘she tried to lick your face’?”
“Option one. Thankfully.”
“Damn.” Cristina looked disappointed, but only because face-licking would’ve justified homicide without debate. “What did she say?” Meredith hesitated. Cristina stepped closer, voice firm. “Mer. I’m your person. Talk.”
Meredith’s chest tightened. She swallowed once, then again. “She said… she said that maybe she cheated because I wasn’t—because I couldn’t—” Her voice cracked before she forced it steady. “—because I wasn’t enough. Emotionally. Or open. Or trusting. And that I drove her to it.”
Cristina froze. Then her face went completely blank. “Oh,” she said calmly. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll kill her.”
“Cristina—”
“No, no. It’s good. Easy. Quick. I’ll hide the body. I’ll even be subtle. I’ll make it look like the vending machine crushed her. No one will question it.”
Meredith almost laughed, but it came out strangled. “Cristina.”
“I am completely serious,” Cristina said, eyes blazing. “She said that to you? Meredith. Meredith.” She shook her head in fury. “The audacity. The psychological warfare. The gaslighting. The sheer caucasity.”
Meredith let out a trembling breath. “It got to me. And I hate that it did.”
Cristina softened — in the Cristina Yang way, which meant the glare downgraded from murderous to moderately homicidal. “Of course it got to you,” she said, voice low. “She knew exactly which buttons to push. She installed the buttons. She helped design the whole goddamn panel. But that doesn’t make any of it true.”
Meredith stared at the floor. “But what if I do push people away? What if that’s who I am? What if I—what if I someday do that to Addison?”
Cristina stepped forward and grabbed Meredith by the shoulders — not roughly, but grounding, anchoring. “Listen to me,” Cristina said. “Listen with your actual ears, not your damaged, tragic Meredith brain.”
Meredith huffed a tiny laugh through the ache in her chest. Cristina continued, unblinking. “You did not drive Sadie away. She cheated because she’s impulsive, reckless, and allergic to accountability. That’s on her. Not on you.”
Meredith swallowed.
“And Addison?” Cristina’s expression gentled, just barely. “You’re not going to push her away. You’re not even capable of doing that anymore. I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s disgusting. Like a baby deer discovering snow. Honestly it makes me want to throw up.”
Meredith snorted wetly. “Thanks.”
Cristina rolled her eyes. “I’m being sincere, don’t ruin it.”
She squeezed Meredith’s shoulders once more. “You are not your past. Addison isn’t Sadie. And you’re not the same girl you were when you dated a sociopathic blonde disaster with a god complex.”
Meredith let out a shaky breath. A real one. “Cristina…”
“You’re welcome,” Cristina said. “Now straighten up, wash your face with a sterile wipe, and let’s get back out there before Addison thinks I’ve murdered you.”
Meredith laughed — properly this time — and Cristina’s mouth twitched in something that was almost a smile.
As Cristina unlocked the door, she added casually: “But if you want me to murder Sadie later, say the word.”
Meredith shook her head, smiling despite everything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Yes,” Cristina said. “Do that. I’m very versatile.”
Callie strode down the surgical ward with her tablet tucked against her hip. “We’re rounding on my post-op cases,” she said to Sadie, not slowing her pace. “I know you’ve hardly been paying attention in surgery so try to at least look like you’ve seen a bone before.”
Sadie smirked, falling into step beside her. “I’ve seen plenty of bones. Can’t guarantee I’ve treated them well.”
Callie didn’t look at her. “How reassuring,” her tone implied anything but.
They reached the first room—a tibial plateau fracture repair from two days ago. Callie stepped in, checked the patient’s leg positioning, glanced at the drain output, then nodded at Sadie. “Assessment?”
Sadie hesitated. Just a breath. Then she angled herself slightly toward Callie, lowering her voice. “You know, Torres… asking me to think while you’re glaring at me like that feels sabotaging.”
Callie gave her a flat look. “Swelling, perfusion, sensation. Try again without the theatrics.” Sadie recited the basics—accurate enough, but shaky around the edges—and followed Callie out of the room. In the hallway, Callie asked abruptly, “What was your deal with Meredith?”
Sadie blinked. “Wow. Subtle.”
“You’ve been stalking her the whole week like you’re waiting for a callback,” Callie said. “Humour me.”
Sadie let out a soft sigh as they walked. “Meredith and I… it was complicated. She never really let me in. Emotionally, I mean. Always shutting down, always pushing me away. Eventually I—” A shrug, practiced but not entirely empty. “I messed up. Did something stupid.”
“Cheated,” Callie said flatly, not needing the euphemism.
Sadie’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t have if she’d actually—”
“Nope,” Callie cut in sharply. “There’s no version of that where it’s justified. You cheated because you cheated. End of sentence.”
Sadie tilted her head—not offended, just observing Callie like she was an interesting specimen. “I didn’t say it was justified. I said it happened because she shut me out.”
Callie didn’t react—just stopped outside the next post-op room and flipped her tablet open. “So why poke at Addison? If you’re so desperate to fix things with Meredith.”
Sadie huffed a faint laugh. “Maybe because she did what I couldn’t.” She glanced at Callie sidelong. “She got Meredith to stay. To commit. To actually want someone. Maybe I’m jealous. Or maybe I just miss my friend and don’t know how to deal with seeing her with someone who… fits.”
Callie studied her—expression unreadable, but her silence heavy. Sadie shifted, suddenly less sure of her footing. “What?”
“That’s a mess of reasons,” Callie said softly. “None of them good enough to be dragging other people into it.”
Sadie opened her mouth, maybe to flirt again, maybe to deflect—Callie didn’t give her the chance. “Go check the post-op hip in fifteen,” she ordered. “Without the commentary this time.”
Sadie straightened, swallowed whatever she’d been about to say, and slipped into the room ahead of them—her bravado dimmed just enough for Callie to notice. Callie watched the door close, brow furrowed in thought, unsure if Sadie’s story added up.
Addison had barely stepped into the hallway when she heard footsteps behind her. “Dr. Montgomery” Sadie called, her voice annoyingly bright. Addison didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow.
Sadie, predictably, did — matching her stride and sliding into her peripheral vision with a practiced ease. “Can we talk?”
“No,” Addison said flatly.
Sadie ignored that entirely. “I just think it’s interesting,” she began, tone faux-casual, “how everyone assumes I’m the villain in this grand Meredith Grey tragedy.”
Addison’s hand tightened around her coffee cup.
“I mean,” Sadie continued, leaning in like they were sharing gossip, “has it ever actually occurred to you to ask why someone cheats?”
“No,” Addison said sharply. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
Sadie gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “Everything matters. Especially when someone like Meredith pretends she’s this open, emotionally available partner but—well. You’re with her now, you must’ve noticed it.”
Addison stopped walking. Slowly, she turned toward Sadie. “Noticed what?”
Sadie’s smile curved — slow, sharp, knowing. “That wall she keeps up. The way she only lets you close on her terms. The way she shuts down the second anything gets too real or too messy.” She shrugged. “It’s not her fault. That’s just how she is. It’s how she was with me too, long before I ever… went elsewhere.”
Addison stared at her, anger simmering cold and deep. “If this is your attempt to make me feel sorry for you, it’s pathetic.”
“I’m not asking for sympathy,” Sadie said, stepping closer. “I’m asking if it’s crossed your mind that maybe she had a part in what happened. That maybe if she’d loved me the way I needed to be loved, if she’d been capable of letting me in—”
“Stop talking,” Addison said, voice low and dangerous.
Sadie didn’t. Of course she didn’t.
“Meredith’s broken pieces don’t come from me,” she whispered. “But I lived with them. You so will you, and one day,” her gaze sharpened, “you’re going to realise she keeps people at arm’s length for a reason.”
Addison felt something hot and ugly twist in her chest — not belief, not doubt, but pure fury that Sadie dared to weaponise the very scars she’d caused. Before she could speak, firm footsteps rounded the corner.
Teddy’s expression was ice. “Walk away.”
Sadie laughed lightly. “I was just telling Dr. Montgomery here the real story.”
“No,” Teddy said, stepping between them with the poised calm of someone restraining a grenade. “You were cornering her and trying to justify something unjustifiable.”
Sadie’s eyes flicked, taunting. “I was explaining context—”
“No one here needs your context,” Teddy said, voice steel. “Or your excuses. Or your very creative retellings of the past.”
Sadie’s smile faltered.
Teddy angled her body protectively toward Addison. “You don’t get to manipulate her the way you manipulated Meredith.”
Sadie’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t manipulating—”
“You are,” Teddy cut in. “You always do. It’s what you’re good at.” She pointed down the hall. “Go. Now.”
For a moment, Sadie looked like she might push it — one more jab, one more poisoned seed to plant. Then she scoffed, tossed her hair, and stalked away. The hallway went quiet. Addison let out a slow, shaky breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.
Teddy turned to her immediately, gently but urgently. “Hey,” she said, eyes searching hers. “Are you okay?”
Addison swallowed hard, nodding even though her shoulders trembled. “She’s—she’s just trying to get under my skin.”
“Don't let her,” Teddy said firmly. “Because you know better. You know who Meredith is now. Who she’s become.”
“I do.." Addison said slowly, almost questioning.
“Addison” Teddy’s voice was so steady it anchored the air around them. “She cheated because she chose to cheat. Because she’s impulsive and careless and incapable of accountability. Not because of anything Meredith did or didn’t do.”
Addison blinked back a sting of emotion.
Teddy softened. “Meredith’s grown so much since then. You of all people should recognise that. She lets you in. She lets you stay. She didn’t know how to do that before.”
Addison exhaled, some tension finally ebbing from her posture. Teddy gave her a small smile. “Don’t let Sadie rewrite the story. She’s good at that. You’re better at seeing the truth.”
Addison nodded again, steadier this time.
“Come on,” Teddy said gently. “Let’s get some air. Let Meredith find us when she’s ready.”
Addison allowed herself to be guided down the hallway, away from the shadow Sadie had tried to cast. Teddy kept close, protective and grounding — the quiet reassurance Addison didn’t realise she needed until it was there.
Meredith found Addison in one of the smaller consult rooms on the third floor, the door half-shut, the lights dimmed. Addison stood with her palms braced on the counter, shoulders tight, head bowed like she was holding herself together with sheer will.
“Addison?” Meredith said gently.
Addison didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. Meredith didn’t push, but she stepped inside and closed the door with a soft click. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Teddy said I should come find you.”
Addison let out a bitter little laugh. “Of course she did.”
Meredith stayed near the door, giving Addison space. “Are you avoiding me?”
A long silence stretched out. Then, finally, a quiet: “Maybe, I don’t know.”
Meredith’s chest pinched, but she kept her voice soft. “Can you tell me why?”
Addison inhaled shakily, straightening. When she turned around, her expression was composed — but her eyes gave her away. Guarded. Flickering. Hurt. “It’s stupid,” she whispered. “I know it’s stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Addison dragged in a breath, fingers trembling slightly where they gripped the counter. “Sadie cornered me earlier.”
Meredith stiffened immediately — but didn’t interrupt.
“She said things,” Addison continued, voice thin. “Things she had no right to say. Things that… hit places I didn’t even realise were still vulnerable.” She swallowed. “About you. About us.”
Meredith stepped closer, slow, careful. “What did she say?”
Addison laughed, but there was nothing amused in it — only disbelief and something close to shame. “That you never let people know the real you,” she whispered. “That your walls will always be there, even though you don’t realise.”
Meredith felt her stomach fall.
“And that was why she did it,” Addison continued, voice cracking, “because you never let her all the way in. Because she felt shut out.”
Meredith’s breath hitched. Pain flashed through her eyes — not because she believed Sadie, but because she knew those were wounds Sadie had caused and then blamed her for.
Addison went on, voice trembling, “Basically implied you’ll walk away from me too.”
Meredith’s throat tightened. “Addison—”
“No, let me finish,” Addison whispered quickly, almost desperate. “Because I don’t believe her. I don’t. But she said it, and it just—” She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath. “I know you Meredith, the real you…but it got in. It got into places I thought were feeling safe again.”
Meredith took a small step forward. “Can I touch you?”
Addison nodded immediately, relief flickering through her expression. Meredith closed the distance and gently cupped her face, her thumbs brushing soft reassuring strokes across Addison’s cheekbones.
“Addison,” she said quietly, “I told Sadie that she doesn’t know me anymore. And she doesn’t. Not who I am now. Not who I am with you.”
Addison’s breath shuddered out.
“You need to know something too,” Meredith continued, voice steady but fragile around the edges. “Sadie said similar things to me, earlier. That I push people away. That I make it impossible to love me. She cheated because I wasn’t… enough.” Her voice faltered. “It shouldn’t have gotten to me either. But it did.”
Addison’s eyes softened instantly. “Mer—”
“It’s my turn,” Meredith whispered, mirroring Addison’s earlier plea.
Addison nodded.
Meredith took another breath, deep and raw. “I do walk away when I’m hurt. When I’m scared. When I think I’m the problem and it’s easier to leave than fix myself. That’s all true and I know it.” She swallowed. “I didn’t walk away from Sadie because I didn’t want to let her in, I walked away because I realised she didn’t deserve to be.”
Addison’s eyes shimmered.
“But with you?” Meredith’s voice trembled. “I don’t want to walk away from anything. Not the fear, not even the hard parts. Not you. I won’t, ever.”
Addison crumpled like wet paper. “I’m terrified sometimes,” Addison whispered. “because last time I let you walk away without me, you didn’t come back for six months.”
Meredith stepped closer until their foreheads touched, breath mingling. “I’m terrified you’ll realise you deserve someone with fewer cracks,” Meredith whispered.
Addison’s breath caught, and her hand slid up to Meredith’s waist, gripping tightly. “Then we’re both idiots,” Addison murmured.
“Probably,” Meredith agreed softly. “But we’re idiots who love each other.”
Addison let out a strangled laugh that was half-sob.
Meredith lifted her chin gently, so their eyes met. “Listen to me. I don’t shut you out. Not intentionally. You’re the safest thing I’ve ever had. When things get hard, I want you closer, not further away.”
Addison’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed.
“And if one day I’m scared,” Meredith added softly, “I need you to pull me back.”
Addison’s voice cracked. “I will.”
“And I’ll do the same,” Meredith promised. “I’ll pull you back too.”
Addison nodded, tears finally slipping free. “I just—Meredith, I can’t lose you. Not again.”
“You won’t,” Meredith whispered. “You won’t ever lose me again.”
Addison let out a long, shaking breath and then folded into her, arms wrapping tight around Meredith’s waist like she was anchoring herself to shore. Meredith held her just as tightly, tucking her face into Addison’s neck. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in the softest voice, Addison whispered, “You’re in. All the way in. Whether you realise it or not.”
Meredith kissed her throat, slow and soothing. “Good,” she whispered back. “Because you are too.”
Meredith sat hunched over a stack of charts, her pen tapping in rapid, irritated bursts that barely kept pace with the storm in her head. The anger had been simmering since earlier—Sadie’s voice needling through all the old wounds she pretend didn't still exist. Her going after Addison? Trying to claw at the one thing in Meredith’s life she refused to ever doubt?
Her jaw clenched just thinking about it. The door creaked open. She didn’t bother looking up. Not until the footsteps stopped directly across the table. Her stomach went cold.
Of course. Sadie.
Meredith’s head lifted slowly, expression flat, unreadable in a way that used to make residents nervous. “Do you need something, Dr. Harris?” she asked, voice clipped steel.
Sadie sauntered inside like she owned oxygen itself, spinning the chair around and dropping into it with a casual confidence that grated like sandpaper. “Relax,” she purred. “I just want to talk. You’ve been avoiding me.”
Meredith flipped to the next chart. “Shocking.”
Sadie ignored the bite, leaning in, elbows on the table as if this were an intimate reunion instead of a warfront. “We were friends once. Before everything. Do you even remember that?”
Meredith let out a quiet, razor-thin laugh. “Yeah. I remember enough, unfortunately.”
A flicker—pain, brief and genuine—crossed Sadie’s face. Then it hardened back into something sharper. “Heard you were in the army,” she said lightly, like it was gossip. Not trauma. Not six months of “presumed dead.”
Meredith’s pen froze. “Where did you hear that?”
Sadie shrugged. “People talk about the great Meredith Grey. You’re basically hospital folklore.” Her gaze dropped down Meredith’s body with a slow, lingering sweep. “Bet you looked good in uniform.”
Meredith shut the chart with a snap so sharp the sound cracked through the room. “Don’t play with me.”
Sadie smiled—like Meredith had just given her the exact reaction she wanted. “Why not? You used to like it when I—”
“Used to.” Meredith pulled her hand away before Sadie could even reach for it. “Not anymore.”
Sadie sighed dramatically. “God, you’re still so dramatic. Don’t you remember the fun? The all nighters? The—”
“Do I remember the charming parts,” Meredith cut in, “or the nights you told me I was too closed off? Or the time I walked into our hotel room and found you fucking someone else?” Her voice didn’t rise. That made it worse. “Help me out here, because I'm spoilt for choice.”
Sadie frowned slightly, as if genuinely confused. “You’re not still upset about that, are you? Meredith, you never wanted anything serious. You were the tortured genius. I was...well, me. It worked.”
“We never worked,” Meredith said. “We just didn’t implode fast enough for either of us to notice.”
Sadie’s eyes sharpened. “Or maybe you just do what you always do—running the second you feel too much.”
Meredith stood. Not fast. Not storming. Controlled. Dangerous.
“I don’t run,” she said evenly.
“You always run.” Sadie gestured, "Look at you, ready to bolt the minute things don't go your way."
Meredith’s stare didn’t waver. “When it’s real, I stay.”
Sadie scoffed. “Please. You? Stable? Domestic? That’s what’s funny—this whole Addison thing. You’re playing house and pretending it fits, that it's what you actually want.”
Meredith stepped closer, eyes like glass about to shatter into something sharp. “Is that what this is to you, fun? Stirring shit with my friends? Blindsiding Addison like you have the right to even say her name?”
Sadie’s expression twitched—just enough to betray she’d been caught.
Meredith nodded once. “Right. There it is.”
Sadie tried to recover with a smirk. “If it’s that easy to make her question you—”
“Enough.”
The word cut the air clean in half. “You don’t get to weaponise my past,” Meredith said quietly, fiercely. “You don’t get to poke at Addison’s insecurities just to see if she bleeds. You don’t get to make me feel like I’m that girl again—the one you could chip away at, one comment at a time.”
Sadie’s jaw ticked. A tiny tic. A tell Meredith knew well. “You’re not doing this because you care,” Meredith said. “You’re doing it because you’re bored, and lonely, and you can’t stand the idea that I built a life without you in it.”
Sadie stiffened—but the smirk stayed. Barely.
“Face it,” Meredith said softly. “You’re playing a game.”
Sadie’s smile faltered. Just a fraction. Just enough.
“And you’re losing,” Meredith finished. She grabbed her charts and stepped around her, forcing Sadie to move out of her way for once. As Meredith reached the door, Sadie spoke—voice low.
“You really think she’ll stay?” she asked. “You think you’re enough for her?”
Meredith stopped, hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn. Her voice was calm. Final.
“I don’t think, Sadie,” she said. “I know.”
And she walked out—leaving Sadie alone in the research room, her smirk cracking at the edges as the door clicked shut behind Meredith.
Meredith didn’t realise how late it was until she stepped out of the elevator and the lobby lights had dimmed into that after-hours hush. The hospital felt hollow in the evenings—every sound sharper, every shadow longer. Her shoulders throbbed from tension, her jaw was locked from grinding through Sadie’s tirades, and she felt that particular brand of exhaustion especially deep.
She just wanted out. Out of the building, out of her head, out of this day. She pushed through the automatic doors and stopped.
Addison was there.
Not reading, not on her phone, not pacing. Just standing in the cool evening air like she’d been waiting specifically for Meredith. Coat pulled tight around her, hair loose at her shoulders, and when she looked up at Meredith—
God.
Meredith felt it hit her chest, a physical drop, like someone had cut the strings holding her upright. Addison’s eyes softened instantly, concern flickering, but not pity. Never pity. Just this warm, open awareness that made Meredith feel seen all the way through.
“Hey,” Addison murmured.
Meredith didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the second she saw her, all the anger and irritation and tightly wound restraint she’d been clinging to… just let go. She walked straight into her, into Addison’s space, into her gravity. Addison’s hand lifted on instinct, sliding to Meredith’s cheek, thumb brushing beneath tired eyes. “You okay?”
Something inside Meredith cracked at how gentle her voice was. “Sadie,” she exhaled. And it came out like it had weight.
“Ah.” Addison nodded, a wince crossing her face.
And then Meredith grabbed her.
Not impatient, not lustful—just needing. She curled her fingers into the lapel of Addison’s coat and pulled her in, kissing her with this deep, trembling urgency that spoke in all the words she didn’t have the energy to say. Addison inhaled sharply, surprised for half a heartbeat before kissing her back, grounding her, steadying her, holding the pieces of Meredith together without even trying.
Meredith pressed her forehead to Addison’s when she pulled back, breathing unevenly. “I just… needed you.”
“You have me,” Addison whispered, brushing a hand through her hair. “You always have me.”
A throat cleared behind them.
“Okay,” Bailey said, hands on her hips, “you two can go suck face on your own time.”
Meredith didn’t even look embarrassed this time. She lifted her head and said, “I’m off the clock.”
Bailey shot Addison a look. “Take your fiancée home before she melts into a puddle on my lobby floor.”
Addison gave a soft, crooked smile—the kind that was all pride and affection and a little smug because yes, she would love to take Meredith home. “Okay.”
She took Meredith’s hand, threading their fingers together like it was automatic, like she’d been waiting all day to do it. Meredith leaned into her side as they walked toward the car, her body finally relaxing, finally unclenching.
With every step, the day fell further behind her, and with Addison’s thumb stroking over her knuckles, every step felt like coming home.
Chapter Text
The courtyard was crisp enough that Callie had her hands wrapped around her coffee like she was guarding a small fire. She dropped into the metal chair beside Mark and Addison with a groan that carried genuine suffering. “I hate her,” Callie declared.
Mark didn’t even look up from the sandwich he was taking apart like a bored five-year-old. “You hate everyone before noon.”
“No,” Callie insisted, stabbing a finger at the air. “I clinically hate her. As a physician, as a person. As someone who believes in basic competency. Sadie Harris has been on my service all week, and I swear she doesn’t know half the things a first-year resident should know. How did she pass anything? Like—anything?”
Mark snorted. “Fantastic. Because guess who Chief handed her to next?” He pointed at himself with a grimace. “Me. Me, Callie. I spent all week turning Jackson into the golden child of plastics. The Plastics Posse was thriving. And now?” He groaned. “Now I get… her.”
Callie groaned back. “She spent half the morning flirting instead of answering questions. You know what her answer to ‘what’s the most common post-op complication after a femoral rod insertion’ was?” Callie took a slow sip of coffee, eyes narrowing. “A wink. A literal wink.”
Mark barked a laugh. “Well—”
“No,” Callie cut him off. “Not funny. Unacceptable.”
Across from them, Addison hadn’t said a single word. She sat rigid, hands around her own cup but not drinking, staring through the table like she could crack it with her mind. Callie paused. “Okay… what’s wrong with you?”
Addison blinked, slow. “I’m tired.”
“Tired?” Mark echoed. “That’s vague. Try again.”
Addison exhaled hard, rubbing her forehead. “I’m tired of watching Sadie needle Meredith about every insecurity she’s ever had—like it’s entertainment. I’m tired of her picking at old wounds just to get a rise, and then coming to me to try and—” Her jaw flexed. “—unsettle me too.”
Callie’s expression softened. “Oh.”
“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Addison continued, voice tight. “It’s not flirting, it’s not jealousy. It’s cruelty with a smile. Meredith told me some of the things she said the other day and—I just—” She shook her head. “It’s like she knows where the cracks were and she’s trying to reopen them.”
Mark’s face lost its humour. “That’s… messed up.”
“It is." Addison’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup. “Meredith’s trying to pretend it’s just noise. But Sadie knows her, she knows what to push. What to imply and I hate—” Her voice wavered, but only for a moment. “I hate that it gets in her head.”
Callie hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Sooo… small detail. Tiny thing. Not great timing.”
Addison’s eyes narrowed. “Calliope.”
“She’s—uh—on a twenty-four-hour shift,” Callie admitted. “Which means Sadie’s here tonight, when Meredith is here... too.”
Addison’s shoulders tensed. “Of course she is.”
Mark leaned back. “Look, you know Meredith isn’t going to let her get between you two.”
“I do,” Addison said quickly. “I know. It’s just—” She paused, searching for the right words. “It’s not about what Meredith feels for her. It’s about what Sadie stirs up. The way she tries to make Meredith doubt herself, or doubt me. She’s good at it—she knows exactly where the trauma is buried.”
Callie grimaced. “That sucks."
“Obviously,” Addison muttered, “I’m tired of watching someone who used to know her tear at the parts she’s spent years stitching back together.”
Mark’s brows lifted. “Okay, yeah, that’s… intense.”
“Exactly,” Addison said, firm, unapologetic. “This isn’t about Sadie wanting her. It’s about Sadie wanting her unsteady. I won’t tolerate that.”
Mark leaned back, hands up. “Alright, alright. Protective murder vibes. Got it.”
“More like righteous fury,” Callie amended. “But with the option for homicide.”
Addison gave them both a withering stare. “If Sadie says one more thing to make Meredith doubt herself, I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Mark reached over to steal one of her fries, “Noted. Protective. Terrifying. Message received.”
Addison slapped his hand away. “I hate you both.”
Callie clinked her coffee cup against hers. “Sure, but you love Meredith more than your own dignity, so we forgive you.” Addison tried to hold onto the glare, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, lifting—just enough to make Callie and Mark grin at each other like idiots.
The soft hum of the office lights made Addison feel like she was the last human alive in the hospital. She was finishing notes, shoulders finally starting to unclench, when the door opened. “Must be nice,” Meredith teased gently from the doorway, “that you don’t have to do night shifts very often. OB perks, huh?”
Addison’s head lifted fast—too fast her head spun. “Yeah, unless an emergency comes in and I have to sprint here in pyjamas.”
Meredith stepped inside with the kind of deliberate gentleness she only ever used when Addison was holding herself together by a thread. “Fair point,” she murmured, and then she crossed the room and folded Addison into a warm, grounding hug. Addison breathed out, slow and shaky, melting into it before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be the fragile one. Meredith pulled back first, brushing a soft kiss against her lips.
“Dinner with me?” she asked—light, playful, almost purposefully so.
Addison blinked. “Where?”
“In the cafeteria,” Meredith said, grinning. “All the ambiance of fluorescent lighting and mystery meat.”
Addison laughed despite herself. “Questionable location. But yes, I will eat with you.”
Meredith’s smirk deepened. “Or… we could skip the cafeteria and I could eat right here.”
Addison rolled her eyes. “You are—ridiculous.”
“True,” Meredith said, offering her hand. “Come on. Let’s go get food.”
They walked down the quiet hallway hand-in-hand. Meredith kept brushing her thumb over Addison’s knuckles, tiny soothing passes, like she was checking she was still there. Addison didn’t comment—but she squeezed back.
The cafeteria was unusually still for an early night shift. Low chatter, clinking cutlery, a few exhausted residents. Nothing chaotic. Nothing dangerous. Except the fact that Meredith would be here all night....and Sadie Harris would be here too. Addison’s stomach tightened at the thought, but she kept her expression smooth. Meredith didn’t need more pressure—not after the other day.
They sat. Meredith unwrapped her sandwich. Addison poked at her salad with distracted precision. “How was your day?” Meredith asked.
“Good,” Addison said quickly, almost too quickly. “A couple of easy labours. Preemie twins—tiny, but strong. Honestly the whole floor felt… simple today.”
Meredith gave her a knowing, gentle look. “Really? Because yesterday you said one of them cried so much you were contemplating hiding in the supply closet.”
Addison smirked. “That's pure strategy, not cowardice.”
Meredith chuckled softly, but Addison could still see the bruised edge beneath her eyes—the weight Sadie had pressed into her earlier. The same weight Addison wanted to throw Sadie through a wall for creating. “You handle babies like a pro,” Meredith said suddenly, breaking Addison’s thoughts. “Calm. Confident. Nurturing. You’re… amazing with kids.”
Addison froze, caught off guard. “You… think so?”
“I do.” Meredith’s voice was soft, sure. “I can’t wait to see you with ours someday.”
Addison’s breath hitched. “Wait—you—” She swallowed. “You want kids?”
Meredith shrugged, giving a shy, crooked smile Addison rarely saw. “I never thought I would. I didn’t think I’d be good at it. I mean, look at the example I had.” She exhaled slowly. “But then I saw you with a baby one day, and it just… clicked. I want that with you.”
Addison’s eyes softened, everything inside her melting into something warm and trembling. “I didn’t think you’d want that,” she whispered. “I thought I was the only one dreaming about…having more, a family.”
“I know,” Meredith said gently. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t say it sooner. But I want it. I’m all in.”
Addison reached across the table, taking her hand—holding it like it was something precious. “I am so in love with you,” she said, voice breaking on the edges.
Meredith squeezed back, steady and certain. “Good. Because after the week we’ve had? I deserve to hear it a hundred more times.”
Addison snorted softly, leaning across the table to kiss the corner of Meredith’s mouth. “You’re impossible.”
“Only for you,” Meredith whispered.
Addison stared at her for a long moment, her fingers still tangled with Meredith’s, the earlier fear and tension easing out of her muscles with every second.
She wasn’t jealous.
She wasn’t threatened.
She was terrified of seeing Meredith hurt again.
Terrified of Sadie exploiting the wounds she’d helped create.
But right here—Meredith’s hands around hers, their future spoken aloud —it felt like something stronger than all of it. Like choosing each other, again and again. Meredith’s gaze stayed locked on her, warm, steady, and impossibly sure.
Meredith leaned her elbows on the ER desk, watching two nervous interns poke gingerly at a woman doubled over with abdominal pain. Every few seconds one of them glanced back at her like she was a lighthouse in a storm. Meredith gave a tiny encouraging nod. She was tired—bone-tired—and hiding it poorly.
“Move,” came a voice beside her.
Meredith startled, then blinked. “Cristina? What are you doing here? I thought Owen was—”
“I took his shift,” Cristina said, already reaching for the chart on the desk. “Don’t make it a thing.”
Meredith stared at her. “You… took his shift?”
Cristina didn’t look at her. “You’ve been circling the drain for days. Someone has to keep you from drowning, and everyone else is useless.”
Meredith’s chest warmed, softening something she’d been holding painfully tight. Cristina pretending she didn’t care was almost more caring than if she’d said it outright. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a moment, watching the interns debate whether or not to order a CT. Meredith exhaled slowly. “So… are you going to tell me what’s going on with Teddy?”
Cristina’s jaw flexed. “Nope. Not happening. Not interested.”
“Cristina.”
“Meredith,” she mimicked back, flat and sharp.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Meredith shifted, turning to face her slightly. “You’re shutting her out.”
Cristina finally looked up, eyes dangerous and exhausted and fragile all at once. “I am setting boundaries.”
“You built a moat. With alligators.”
“I like alligators. They eat people who bother me.”
Meredith stepped closer, lowering her voice. “She’s not bothering you. She’s trying to love you.”
Cristina’s eyes flashed—fear, irritation, vulnerability, all at once. “Well maybe I don’t want that.”
“You do.”
Cristina glared. “You don’t get it.”
“Yes,” Meredith said quietly. “I do.”
Cristina scoffed.
“I was dead for half a year, Cristina.” That shut her up.
Meredith swallowed, the memory thick in her throat. “I left Addison behind. I saw things over there that I still dream about. And then… when our convoy got hit—she thought I was dead.”
Cristina’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
“She woke up every day not knowing if I was alive. Not knowing if she’d ever see me again. Touch me again. Hear me laugh again.” Meredith’s voice cracked, but she pushed on. “And I fell asleep every night over there dreaming about her—how badly I wanted to get home to her. To kiss her. To feel her hands on me. To make her come undone. To tell her I loved her one more time.”
Cristina stared at her, unreadable but not untouched.
“When I finally got home,” Meredith said softly, “I realised how stupid it all was. How much time gets wasted pretending you don't care as much as you do or that distance protects you.”
Cristina looked away, blinking hard.
“It doesn’t protect you,” Meredith whispered. “It just hurts everyone. It hurts you.”
Cristina’s laugh was brittle. “Well, yay, I guess. Terrific. More feelings.”
“Cristina.” A long beat. Cristina’s jaw clenched like she was trying not to feel anything. Or everything. “You have something with Teddy,” Meredith continued, gentler now. “Something real. Something rare. And you’re pushing her away because it scares you.”
Cristina exhaled sharply, like the words physically hit her. “I am scared.”
“I know.”
“Because she matters. Too much.” Cristina swallowed hard. “And if I let myself… really let myself… she could break me.”
Meredith’s eyes softened. “That’s what it feels like to really love someone.”
Cristina glared—not with anger, but with the panic of someone whose armour had just cracked. “You are seriously the worst tonight. Like, offensively insightful.”
Meredith nudged her shoulder. “You needed to hear it.”
Cristina nudged back, tiny, reluctant. “Shut up.”
The interns called for help, panicked. Cristina pushed off the desk first, brushing Meredith’s arm on instinct—protective, present, choosing to stay. “Come on,” she muttered. “Let’s go keep the children from killing someone.” But the moment lingered. Heavy, real, and Cristina Yang—who only let love in kicking and screaming—had heard every syllable.
By the time Meredith trudged into her house around dawn, she was utterly spent—mentally drained in a way no long shift could ever manage. It wasn’t the hospital keeping her on edge; it was Sadie, and her meddling. Again. Meredith kicked off her shoes, rubbing her temples as the events from the night came to the front of her mind.
Meredith and Cristina leaned against the wall outside CT, both of them staring at the closed doors like they could speed up the scan with sheer willpower. “So,” Cristina said, rotating her neck until it cracked. “If that abdominal pain turns out to be gas, I’m quitting medicine. I’m joining a monastery. I’ll grow cucumbers.”
Meredith snorted. “You’d get kicked out in under four minutes. You’d yell at the monks for meditating wrong.”
Cristina shrugged. “If they meditate like interns place IVs, they deserve it.”
Meredith laughed—quiet, exhausted, but real. Cristina smirked like she was proud of herself for coaxing it out of her. Footsteps approached. A redhead in scrubs stopped in front of them, clutching a chart like it might explode.
“Dr. Grey?” she asked. “Dr. Yang?”
Cristina gave her the up-and-down of someone assessing whether a person would collapse under pressure. “Who are you?”
“April Kepner. Resident.” She smiled—anxiously, too earnestly. “I’m covering the pit tonight.”
Meredith frowned. “Why? I thought Sadie Harris was supposed to be on.”
“Oh.” April shifted the chart, oblivious to the sudden tension thickening the air. “Right. Well, Dr. Harris actually asked if we could switch. She said she has a really keen interest in OB-GYN, so she's taking my rotation up there this week, and I’m taking hers, starting tonight.”
Silence.
It stretched.
Cristina made a face like she’d been force-fed a lemon dipped in bleach. Meredith’s stomach dropped. “She… what?”
April blinked, confused. “OB-GYN. She said she was really excited about it. Passionate, actually.”
Cristina turned slowly—slowly—toward Meredith, eyes wide, horrified. “Oh, that’s bad.”
“Very bad,” Meredith muttered.
April smiled brightly, still not understanding she’d just delivered a live grenade. “So! If you need anything, I’m here!”
She scurried off before either of them could react. Cristina stared after her. “You know, I thought Kepner’s worst feature was her personality, but clearly it’s her timing.”
Meredith dragged a hand down her face. “Sadie in OB...With Addison.”
“Hey,” Cristina said, attempting optimism with all the grace of a cat trying to swim. “Look on the bright side. At least you get a night with no Sadie drama.”
Meredith laughed—a short, humourless, dying sound. “Yeah. Except I’m not the one who’s going to lose my mind.”
Cristina raised a brow. “Addison?”
“She’s going to flip something when she finds out.” Meredith rubbed her temples. “Breathe fire. Melt steel. Level the entire maternity ward.”
Cristina nodded solemnly. “Yeah. She’s terrifying when provoked. Like a sexy redheaded dragon.”
Meredith huffed. “Great. Addison is going to incinerate a resident.”
Cristina patted her shoulder. “At least it won’t be you this time.”
The CT doors finally slid open—but they both just stared ahead, dread settling in like smoke.
Meredith had laughed in the moment—one sharp, humourless sound—because what else could she do? Sadie wasn’t just poking old wounds anymore.
She was moving into Addison’s orbit. Purposefully. Deliberately. Like she’d studied the exact map of Meredith’s insecurities and circled the spot marked weak point.
She’d held her nerve all shift, but the moment she heard Sadie was due to be on Addison's service....It felt like the oxygen had thinned. Because Meredith knew Sadie’s patterns. The way she could charm, then undermine. The way she wrapped provocation in politeness. The way she pushed exactly where it hurt—and smiled like it was nothing.
And Addison…Addison didn’t deserve to be dragged into that storm...again
The thought twisted tight inside Meredith: Sadie wasn’t just trying to get a rise out of her anymore. She was aiming straight for the person Meredith loved most. That was the part that stayed with her—heavier than her coat that she hung on the rack, heavier than the shift—long after she closed the door behind her.
Her heart skipped a beat as she pushed open the bedroom door and saw Addison still asleep. Cocooned in their sheets, a soft, peaceful smile on her face and Meredith’s pillow pulled tightly to her chest.
Meredith’s chest ached—too full and too hollow at the same time.
She slipped into the bathroom before that ache could unravel her, closing the door gently behind her. She turned on the shower, stepped inside, and let the hot water pound against her skin, melting the tightness in her shoulders. But the warmth did what warmth always did. It loosened the memories she never invited and could never escaped.
It rose like a tide, swallowing the tiles around her.
The rain coming through the hole in the roof was freezing, a shock against her sunburnt skin, but Meredith welcomed it. After days of choking heat and sand and thirst, cold was a mercy. The cell stank of sweat and metal and sand, but if she kept her eyes closed and tilted her face upward, the rain almost felt like Seattle.
Almost.
"What are you doing?" Parker’s voice was cracked from dehydration, barely more than a rasp. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her from across the cell—slumped against the wall, bruised, exhausted, but somehow still trying to smile.
"Pretending," she muttered, shutting her eyes again.
"Pretending what?"
"That I’m home."
The rain hit the tin roof harder, the sound a steady roar—like storms against the old house she grew up in. Like nights lying in bed, listening to sheets rustle beside her as Addison breathed, warm and safe and real.
She felt Parker move before she saw him. He shuffled over, bones protesting, and sank beside her, tilting his face up too. The water streaked through the dirt on his cheeks. "This does not remind me of home," he said dryly.
"That’s because you’re from sunny California," she deadpanned.
His laugh was thin but real. He rested his hand beisde hers—not romantic, not comforting, just human. Just there. "Yeah… you’d think I’d be used to the heat then."
"Different kind of heat," she whispered. "Hell is hotter than California."
When she looked at him, she saw the truth she’d been avoiding in the dark: the fear. The resignation. The longing. All the things she felt but refused to name.
"One day it won’t be like this," he said, voice trembling despite the certainty he tried to mimic.
"It’s been months," she breathed. "They’re probably not even looking for us anymore."
Parker squeezed her shoulder—gentle, grounding. "Close your eyes," he said softly. "Imagine you’re home again."
Home.
She didn’t even hesitate.
She closed her eyes and let the rain hit her face and there—there she saw the thing that kept her alive across the endless days: Addison.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Sleeping beside her with that soft, secret peace.
Touching her like she mattered.
Saying her name like it was something beautiful.
A small smile tugged at Meredith’s cracked lips.
"Who’re you thinking about?" Parker asked, voice distant, like they were already fading.
"Addison," Meredith whispered. "Always Addison."
The memory dissolved slowly, leaving Meredith standing under the hot spray, one hand braced against the tile, breath trembling in her chest. It always hit like that—without warning, without mercy—yanking her back to a place where she wasn’t sure she’d survive long enough to see home again.
To see her again.
She shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel as the bathroom filled with steam. The air was warm, safe, familiar. A world away from tin roofs and desert storms.
When Meredith finally pushed open the bathroom door, the quiet of their home hit her with a different kind of force—soft, steady, grounding. Addison was still asleep, serene and untouchable in the best possible way. Safe in a way Meredith had once thought she’d never live to see again.
Meredith crossed the room quietly, heart tightening in that old, aching way. She slid into bed with careful movements, easing the pillow out from Addison’s arms. Addison murmured in her sleep, adjusting instinctively toward the new warmth beside her. Meredith couldn’t help herself—she reached out and traced a slow line down Addison’s cheek, brushing a thumb over soft skin.
Addison twitched at the touch, just barely, lips parting in a sleepy sigh.
Meredith shifted closer until their foreheads nearly touched, until she could feel Addison’s breath warm against her face. The tension left her body in a long, shaky exhale. This—this was what home felt like. Not the house, not the bed—her. The woman who loved her without hesitation. Without games. Without cruelty.
The woman she had whispered to the rain about in the darkest place she’d ever known.
Meredith closed her eyes and let herself sink into that warmth, that safety, that absolute certainty.
Here, in this quiet, nothing hurt.
Here, she wasn’t lost or fighting or pretending she wasn’t terrified.
Here, she was safe.
Loved.
Home.
Chapter Text
Meredith drifted awake slowly, warmth pooling lazily through her limbs. The sheets smelled like Addison—clean linen, citrus lotion, and something intrinsically her—and it made a slow smile tug at her lips before her eyes even opened. When she finally blinked into the early afternoon light, the world sharpened around one sight:
Addison, sitting up against the headboard, reading.
Glasses on. Hair tousled from sleep. One of Meredith’s old grey shirts hanging off her shoulder, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone. Legs half tangled in their sheets, bare skin glowing in the soft light.
She looked like the kind of fantasy Meredith would never admit out loud.
Meredith lay there, watching her, not even trying to hide it. Addison’s brow furrowed at something on the page, her bottom lip caught gently between her teeth—and Meredith felt something inside her tighten so suddenly she inhaled sharply.
That must’ve drawn Addison’s attention, because her head turned. Her eyes softened instantly when she saw Meredith awake, and she closed the medical journal without even marking her place. “Hey,” she murmured, voice slow and warm, tilting her head just enough that the glasses slid a fraction lower on her nose. “Sleep well?”
Meredith didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She was too busy drinking her in. The glasses. The shirt. The sheets. The sleepy smile. The way her voice sounded like it was made for private mornings like this.
Addison noticed the staring—and her smile curved into something knowing, something wickedly soft. She set the journal and glasses aside and turned her full attention to Meredith, palm sliding over the sheet until it brushed Meredith’s hip. “You’re looking at me like you’re plotting something,” Addison teased gently, but her voice had gone lower, warmer. “Should I be worried?”
Meredith’s breath hitched. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Definitely.”
She pushed up, slow, deliberate, heat rolling through her chest as Addison’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Meredith straddled her thighs, hands sliding up the front of Addison’s shirt until her fingers brushed her collarbone. Addison’s breath caught—quiet but unmistakable. Her hands were already settling on Meredith’s waist, fingertips pressing in like she had no intention of stopping her.
Meredith didn’t give her the chance to say anything. She leaned in and kissed her—hard, deep, with all the pent-up longing sitting heavy in her chest. Addison made a sound against her lips, soft and needy, kissing back instantly, eagerly, hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. Heat flared between them in a wave, hungry and familiar. Meredith’s fingers slid into Addison’s hair, tugging lightly. Addison gasped into her mouth, arching up into her, kissing her deeper, their breaths already mingling, already quickening.
Every touch was deliberate. Every sigh a promise. Every movement a pull toward something deeper, something softer, something that had nothing to do with lust alone. Addison kissed her like she needed her. Meredith kissed her like she worshipped her.
A tangle of sheets shifted under them as Meredith pushed her gently back against the pillows. Addison let her, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, making her look like some sinful, impossible version of herself.
“You’re staring again,” Addison whispered breathlessly, fingers sliding under Meredith’s shirt. Meredith lowered her mouth to Addison’s jaw, to her throat, her voice a warm murmur against her skin.
“I can’t help it.”
Addison shivered, her hands pulling Meredith down fully against her, their bodies aligning with a shared, slow exhale that said everything words didn’t.They lost themselves in each other— in heat, in touch, in lingering kisses and slow exploration, in the quiet intimacy that belonged only to them.
Bodies brushing, breath mixing, whispered confessions spilling between kisses.
Addison’s fingers in Meredith’s hair.
Meredith’s hands on Addison’s skin.
A steady build of need tempered by love, by tenderness, by the way they moved together like they’d been doing this forever. They melted into each other—a little breathless, warm, limbs tangled, hearts still racing, foreheads touching as their breathing steadied. Meredith cupped Addison’s cheek, brushing her thumb over the soft line of her jaw.
“I love you,” she whispered, voice still trembling with it.
Addison smiled, slow and adoring, eyes soft. “I love you more,” she breathed, tugging her close again.
Meredith didn’t give Addison time to catch her breath. One moment Addison was smiling at her, shirt slipping lower on her shoulder — and the next, Meredith was kissing her again, deeper this time, hungry in a way that made Addison’s fingers tighten instantly in her hair.
“God, come here,” Addison breathed, pulling Meredith down harder, kissing her like she’d been waiting all day.
Meredith’s mouth moved to her throat, open-mouthed, hot, dragging slow, sinful kisses down to her collarbone. Her hands slid under Addison’s shirt, palms brushing warm skin, and Addison arched into the touch with a sharp inhale.
Meredith’s voice came out rough against her skin. “You looked so fucking good in your glasses.”
Addison let out a shaky laugh — cut off when Meredith’s teeth grazed her pulse. The sound made Meredith groan, low and desperate. Her hands pushing the shirt up until Addison lifted her arms, letting Meredith rip it off in one clean pull and the sight made Meredith’s breath catch.
“Jesus,” Meredith whispered, eyes roaming over her. “I could come apart just looking at you.”
Addison’s thighs tightened around Meredith’s hips with a growl that did something to Meredith. She slid down between Addison’s legs with purpose, kissing her way over soft skin, tongue teasing the inside of Addison’s thigh until Addison’s entire body jolted.
“Meredith—” she warned, breathless, gripping the sheets.
Meredith didn’t answer — she just hooked Addison’s legs over her shoulders and dragged her hips closer. Addison gasped, head tipping back. Meredith’s hands held her open, her mouth lowering until her breath ghosted over her — and Addison’s hips lifted instinctively.
Meredith didn’t tease.
Didn’t play.
Didn’t waste a second.
Her mouth met Addison in one slow, deliberate stroke of her tongue that tore a sound from Addison’s chest she’d never made for anyone but her. “Mer—Meredith—” Addison stuttered, fingers flying to Meredith’s hair, pulling her in, as Meredith worked her with a practiced, devastating rhythm.
Meredith hummed against her, the vibration sending Addison’s back arching off the bed.
Addison’s breath fractured. Her thighs tightened around Meredith’s shoulders. Her hand trembled against the back of Meredith’s head. “Don’t stop,” she managed, voice already breaking. “Please, don’t stop—”
Meredith didn’t. If anything, she got more focused, more hungry, sliding one hand down to Addison’s hips while her mouth moved faster, deeper, drawing every sound out of her. Addison was coming undone fast — too fast — and Meredith could tell. She slowed just enough to make Addison gasp, whining at the loss of friction.
“Meredith—”
Meredith looked up at her from between her thighs, eyes dark, lips shining, voice low and rough. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
That finished her.
Addison’s entire body tightened, her breath caught, her back arched hard — and she came with a gasp so raw it dragged a groan from Meredith in response. Meredith held her through it, mouth and hands working her until Addison was trembling, thighs shaking around her. Meredith didn’t stop until Addison physically pulled at her wrist, overwhelmed. She crawled up Addison’s body slowly, leaving kisses across her stomach, her ribs, her chest, finally reaching her mouth.
Addison kissed her like she needed oxygen. When they finally broke for air, Addison’s voice was wrecked.
“I want to touch you.”
Meredith’s breath caught — visibly — and Addison rolled her over in one smooth, confident motion, settling over her with a grin that promised Meredith wouldn’t be able to think clearly for hours. “Your turn,” Addison murmured, lowering her mouth to Meredith’s neck, hands softly pulling at her shirt.
Meredith surrendered to her completely, her breath catching.
Addison smiled like she heard it. She kissed Meredith once — soft, deceptively soft — then dragged her mouth down the centre of Meredith’s throat, marking a slow, burning path with her lips. Meredith shivered, hands sliding into Addison’s hair, but Addison pinned her wrists to the mattress with one hand before she could pull her closer. “Uh-uh,” Addison murmured against her skin. “No rushing. You’re mine now.”
Meredith’s stomach flipped — sharp and hot — and Addison felt it. “Right there?” she whispered, fingertips tracing the twitch in Meredith’s abdomen. “You feel that every time I take control.”
Meredith’s voice broke in her throat. “Addison…”
“Don’t worry,” Addison soothed, lowering herself until her body settled fully between Meredith’s thighs. “I’ll take good care of you.”
She kissed her way down the valley of Meredith’s chest, slow enough to make Meredith gasp at every shift of pressure. Then Addison’s mouth closed around her nipple — gentle at first, then deeper, then with a nip that made Meredith’s back arch violently off the bed.
“God—Addison—”
“Mmhmm.” Addison hummed around her, hand tightening on Meredith’s hip to keep her still. “I know.”
She switched sides, giving equal attention, lips and tongue working Meredith into a trembling, needy mess. By the time she finally let up, Meredith’s breathing was fractured, her hips already rolling up helplessly toward Addison. “So needy already?” Addison teased, sliding down her body.
“Addison—please—”
“Oh, sweetie,” she breathed, kissing Meredith’s stomach. “You don’t even know what you’re begging for yet.”
Addison ran her hands under Meredith’s thighs, spreading her open with slow, consuming authority. Meredith tried to lift her hips — instinct — but Addison pressed her back down with a firm hand. “Stay,” she whispered, voice dripping with heat. “Let me have you.”
Meredith obeyed — because how could she not?
Addison lowered her mouth, exhaling a warm breath over her before she even touched her. Meredith’s whole body shook. Addison smiled against her skin, and then she descended on her. One long, unhurried stroke that made Meredith choke on a moan. Addison kept going — slow, then firm, then teasing circles that had Meredith’s thighs tightening around her head.
“Open,” Addison commanded, tapping Meredith’s thigh. “Let me in.”
Meredith spread her legs wider, instantly, breath hitched.
“Good girl.”
The praise wrecked her.
Addison sealed her mouth over her, tongue working with precision that came from knowing Meredith’s body better than Meredith knew it herself. Every flick, every pull, every pressure point — Addison hit them all, deliberate and devastating. Meredith was already close. Too close. “Addison—Addison I’m—”
“No.” Addison pulled back just enough, her lips brushing against but not giving her enough. “Not yet.”
Meredith whimpered. Addison slid two fingers along the slick heat of her, slow just once — then pushed inside her in one smooth, deep stroke. Meredith cried out, head throwing back, voice raw and unguarded.
Addison’s breath shuddered. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
Her fingers curled — just right — and Meredith’s entire body trembled. Addison lowered her mouth again, working Meredith into a rhythm that matched the thrust of her fingers. Meredith grabbed at the sheets, at Addison’s shoulders, at anything she could reach.
“Addison—please—I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” Addison’s voice was low, dark, full of want. “Let go. Let me have it.”
And then Meredith did.
Her climax hit hard, blinding, her hips lifting off the bed despite Addison’s hands holding her down. Addison didn’t stop — didn’t ease up — she rode Meredith through it until Meredith was shaking, crying out, thighs trembling uncontrollably around her.
Only then did Addison finally pull back, kissing her inner thigh with a soft, smug hum. Meredith lay there panting, boneless, stunned. Addison climbed back up her body, hovers above her, cheeks red, eyes blazing. “You with me?” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Meredith’s face.
Meredith nodded, breathless. “Jesus, Addison.”
Addison kissed her slowly, deeply, letting Meredith taste herself on her lips. “Good,” Addison whispered against her mouth. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”
Meredith’s body went boneless on top of Addison’s — a soft, breathless collapse that knocked the remaining air out of both of them. Their foreheads touched, slick with sweat, breaths syncing in staggered, uneven pulls as if their lungs were still trying to catch up to everything their bodies had just done.
For a long beat, neither moved.
Addison’s eyes were half-closed, lashes fluttering as she breathed Meredith in, and then she lifted her chin just enough to brush the softest kiss against Meredith’s lips. Nothing hungry now. Nothing frantic. Just warm, unguarded affection — the kind of kiss that made Meredith feel like she was dissolving into her. Meredith sighed into it, a small, helpless sound, and slowly eased herself off Addison’s lap. Addison immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, the other hand sweeping up Meredith’s back in slow, soothing strokes.
Meredith tucked her face against Addison’s neck, breathing in the warm scent of her skin. Her fingers drifted lazily over Addison’s stomach, tracing unfocused, looping patterns that made Addison exhale in a soft, contented rush.
“Well,” Addison murmured, voice still hoarse with spent desire, “that’s one way to spend an afternoon.”
Meredith laughed against her throat, low and drowsy. “You’re not wrong.” A moment later, her stomach growled — loud, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Addison pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes bright with amusement. “Oh my god,” she said, laughing. “Was that your stomach?”
Meredith scowled playfully. “Listen. After the Olympic level sex we just had? I think I’m entitled to being hungry.”
Addison raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Meredith smirked, leaning in to ghost her lips over Addison’s again. “And you never will.”
Addison’s smile softened. She kissed her properly — slow, tender, lingering — before nudging Meredith’s nose with hers. “Come on,” she whispered, brushing Meredith’s hair off her cheek. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
Meredith let herself be pulled up, still warm, still loose from pleasure, and let Addison guide her out of the tangle of sheets — the afterglow still clinging to both of them like a second skin.
The kitchen was soaked in late-afternoon gold — the kind of warm, sleepy sunlight that made everything feel softer, quieter. Meredith sat on the stool at the counter, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that Addison had insisted on making for her, the steam curling up into her face. She watched Addison move around the kitchen, barefoot, hair mussed from their earlier tangle in bed, humming under her breath as she plated food. Meredith couldn’t even place the tune — something light, something content — and it made her smile before she even realised she was doing it.
Despite the bone-deep exhaustion that had dragged her home in the early hours of the morning… despite the minimal hours of sleep she’d managed before Addison’s hands and mouth had taken her apart… she felt awake. Buzzing, somehow. Weightless.
Happy. Content.
She knew exactly why. It was Addison. It was always Addison.
Her gaze flicked — involuntary, quick — to the envelope Addison had rescued from the trash. It was pinned to the fridge now, crisp white against stainless steel, as if daring her to look too long. Meredith immediately looked away. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to touch that knot inside her chest.
A soft sound caught her attention. Addison humming again. It made Meredith laugh under her breath. “You seem happy,” she said, voice low, affectionate in a way it only ever was for one person. Addison glanced over her shoulder, a small smile blooming instantly — one of those open, unguarded ones that still knocked the air right out of Meredith’s lungs.
“Of course I’m happy,” she said easily. “I have you.”
Something in Meredith’s chest tightened, warm and aching in the best possible way. A moment later, Addison slid a plate in front of her, then came around the counter to take the seat beside her. Their shoulders brushed as they settled in. The food smelled incredible, though Meredith was pretty sure she’d eat anything Addison put in front of her right now.
They ate quietly, the kind of silence that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill it. Meredith’s foot found Addison’s under the counter, tangling with it lazily. Addison nudged back, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Meredith said finally. Addison paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow in question. “Marrying you.” Meredith’s voice was soft, but steady.
Addison's eyes softened instantly, warm like the sunlight spilling across her hair. “Oh yeah?”
Meredith nodded. “Yeah. I just… life isn’t going to get any less chaotic. Or calmer. So maybe we should actually sit down and talk about it.”
Addison reached over, fingers threading through Meredith’s gently. She gave her hand a small, grounding squeeze. “Sounds good,” she murmured.
And it did — it sounded more than good. It sounded right.
“I was thinking… maybe late August. Early September,” Meredith said quietly. Their hands swung between them as they strolled along the pier in the fading light, the last streaks of gold sinking behind the skyline and tinting the water with rose. The air was cool, crisp, gentle — the kind of evening Seattle rarely gifted them. It felt like the world was slowing down just for them.
Addison glanced over, the corners of her lips lifting in that warm, private smile she only gave to Meredith. “I like that,” she murmured, squeezing her hand. “Avoid the rain.”
They both laughed softly — knowing, familiar. This was Seattle. There was no avoiding the rain.
A small family passed them — two parents, two kids — one little boy chasing gulls with shrieks of joy while the mother scooped up the toddler and tossed him over her shoulder, the child’s laughter ringing out. Meredith felt the subtle shift in Addison before she saw it: her shoulders going soft, something wistful tugging her mouth.
Without a word, Meredith guided her to the railing. Addison’s body fit against hers instantly, like something practiced, something inevitable. Meredith wrapped her arms around Addison’s waist, chin resting on her shoulder, breathing her in — warm skin, shampoo, the faint scent of her perfume caught by the breeze.
For a long moment they just stood there, the waves brushing against the pilings below, the hum of the city far away. Meredith felt Addison relax back into her like she was a place to rest. “You know,” Meredith murmured, lips brushing the fabric at Addison’s shoulder, “we don’t have to wait until we’re married to try.”
Addison’s fingers, resting lightly over Meredith’s, stilled. “Try what?” she asked softly, her voice warm, tinged with curiosity.
Meredith swallowed, suddenly shy in a way that felt almost childish. “For a baby.”
Addison’s breath hitched — a tiny sound, but Meredith felt it in her chest like a spark. Addison turned slowly in her arms, hands sliding along Meredith’s hips as if grounding herself. She glanced back at the family one more time — the father now lifting the older child onto his shoulders — then looked at Meredith like she was seeing something impossible.
Her hand rose to cup Meredith’s cheek, trembling just enough to betray how deeply the moment was hitting her. “You’re serious?” she whispered.
Meredith nodded, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Not like we’re getting any younger.” Addison pinched her hip. Meredith yelped. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” Addison said, raising a brow. “Are you calling me old?”
Meredith’s laugh spilled out of her — bright, warm, unguarded — and Addison felt it in her ribs, in her heart, in every place that still startled at being loved this openly. Meredith brushed her lips over hers, a soft, stray kiss. Their noses bumped gently. “You want to try for a baby?” Addison asked, voice hopeful in a way she rarely allowed herself to be — raw, open, so full of longing it made Meredith’s chest ache.
Meredith’s smirk was wicked, and the shift made Addison exhale a shaky laugh. “I mean, if that were possible,” Meredith drawled, “we would've achieved it three times over before we even left the house.”
Addison flushed a beautiful shade of pink as images flickered through her mind — sheets tangled around their legs, Meredith’s mouth, Meredith’s hands, Meredith’s heat. Meredith’s voice whispering things that should not be said in public.
“Gutter brain,” Meredith whispered against her lips, though she was smiling — because she loved when she put that look on Addison’s face.
Addison shrugged, zero shame. “You’re the one who said it.”
Meredith sobered then, her fingers moving to cradle Addison’s jaw, tender in a way that made Addison’s breath catch again. “But yes,” she said, voice low and steady. “I want to marry you. And I want… all of it. A family. A future. Whatever order we build it in — I don’t care.” Her thumb skimmed Addison’s cheekbone, feather-light. “I just want it with you.”
Addison’s heart swelled so painfully she thought it might break open. Relief. Hope. Pure, unfiltered joy. She smiled — that real smile, the one that softened her mouth and made her eyes shine — and then she pulled Meredith into a kiss that was fierce and grateful and overflowing with everything she couldn’t say fast enough.
Meredith’s hands slid into her hair as she kissed her back, breathless. “Is that a yes?” she whispered against her lips, barely pulling back.
“Yes,” Addison exhaled, voice husky with emotion. She kissed her again, softer this time, nibbling Meredith’s bottom lip like she was tasting the promise. “Yes,” she repeated, smiling against her mouth.
Teddy was asleep when the knocking started—an insistent, uneven rhythm that made no sense for delivery drivers, neighbours, or emergencies. She blinked awake, disoriented. The clock read 2:14 a.m.
Another knock.
Harder.
More urgent.
Teddy padded to the door, hair mussed, wearing an old Army Medical Corps T-shirt. She opened it—and Cristina stood there, curls windblown, wearing pyjamas and an expression that could only be described as cardiac arrest held together by sheer ego.
“Hi,” Cristina said, too loud for the hour.
Teddy softened instantly. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“No.” Cristina pushed past her into the apartment, pacing immediately, like she’d rehearsed the whole thing in the car and then lost the script. “Yes. I mean—no. But also yes. It’s complicated. You’re asleep, this is stupid.”
Teddy closed the door. “Cristina—”
“I love you.”
The words dropped like a surgical instrument hitting the floor—loud, shocking, irreversible. Cristina froze, as though she’d only now realised she’d said them out loud. Her eyes darted anywhere but Teddy.
“I love you,” she repeated, quieter, more strangled. “And you’re probably confused, because that sentence coming out of my mouth at two in the morning is—whatever—insane. But I needed to say it. Before I… talked myself out of it again.”
Teddy’s breath caught, but she didn’t rush, didn’t beam, didn’t crowd. She knew better. She simply stepped closer, slow and soft, like approaching a frightened animal and a brilliant surgeon in the same moment. “Cristina,” she murmured.
“I want—” Cristina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words through a throat that hated vulnerability. “I want to be here with you. Not in the casual way that’s like, ‘Oh yeah, my clothes ended up in your drawers,’ but like—actually. Officially. Like a person who…” She winced. “Commits. To things. To you.”
Teddy swallowed the rising joy because showing it too much would make Cristina bolt straight through the nearest window. She kept rambling, hands cutting sharp shapes in the air. “And I know I’m terrible at this, I know I ran, I know you’re probably still mad—”
“I’m not mad,” Teddy said softly.
Cristina faltered mid-sentence. “Well… you should be.”
“I’m not.”
Cristina looked at her then—really looked—and her voice dropped to something painfully small. “I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss being here. I miss… you. I don’t want to keep choosing surgery over you, or pretending that staying means losing something. It doesn’t. It—” She swallowed hard. “It just means I finally stopped being an idiot.”
Teddy’s eyes warmed, but she didn’t reach out yet. Letting Cristina close the distance was part of loving her. Cristina took a shaky breath. “So. Yeah. I love you, and I want you, and if you still—” She gestured vaguely. “Want the whole thing with me… I’m here. Fully here.”
Teddy exhaled slowly, her heart thudding with quiet, overwhelming relief. In her soft, sleepy voice, she said simply, “Okay.”
Cristina blinked. “Okay? That’s it? No lecture? No… sweeping romantic speech? No ‘finally, Cristina!’ moment where you cry or whatever?”
Teddy shrugged lightly. “You came back. You chose me. That’s enough.”
Cristina’s mouth trembled, just for a second, before she tried to hide it behind a scoff. “That’s anti-climactic.”
“And you’re home,” Teddy murmured.
That broke something loose. Cristina stepped into her—awkwardly, abruptly, like someone whose body wasn’t used to leading with emotion—and Teddy caught her in a gentle, steady embrace. Cristina’s forehead pressed into Teddy’s shoulder, breath shuddering as though the world finally unclenched. Teddy kissed the side of her head, soft, grateful. “Come to bed,” she whispered. “We can talk in the morning.”
Cristina nodded, voice muffled, almost childlike. “Okay.”
Chapter Text
The attendings lounge was still dim, washed in that soft pre-dawn light that made everything look gentler than it felt. Meredith sat on the couch, tying her shoes eyes on Addison as she moved around the room, gathering her hair into a loose knot, fingers deft even this early. “Coffee’s ready,” Addison murmured as she reached for her lab coat.
“Thanks,” Meredith said, watching her for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Addison noticed. She always did. “You okay?” she asked softly.
Meredith gave a small huff of a laugh. “I should be asking you that.”
A soft huff left Addison. “I’m fine.” Meredith raised a brow. “I’m… not not fine,” Addison amended, a wry tilt to her mouth. “I’ve had worse days than supervising a resident with severe boundary issues.”
“Addison,” Meredith murmured, standing and walking over to her. She reached out, fingers brushing Addison’s waist, grounding them both. “You don’t have to pretend this isn’t going to be awful.”
Addison looked away for a moment, jaw ticking the smallest bit. When she turned back, her expression was softer. “It’s one rotation,” she said quietly. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” Meredith replied. “If she pushes you,” she continued, voice low, “or tries to dredge up anything… text me. Page me. Hell, send a smoke signal. Just don’t carry it by yourself.”
Addison’s lips curved, small and grateful. “That goes both ways.”
Meredith’s brows lifted. “She’s not on my service.”
“No,” Addison said gently, “but you’re still going to feel it.” That truth settled between them—quiet, heavy, understood. “I mean it,” Addison pressed. “No shutting down. No pretending you’re fine because you think I need you to be fine.”
Meredith smiled, small and real. “I promise.”
Addison’s shoulders loosened at that, like the last piece of tension slid away. Meredith pulled her in then—arms around Addison’s waist, head slipping into the warm curve of her neck. Addison’s hands settled on her back, slow and soothing, rubbing soft circles into the fabric of her scrubs “We’re good,” Meredith whispered. “You and me. No one gets to shake that.”
Addison closed her eyes for a second, letting it sink in. Then she turned her head just enough to brush a kiss to Meredith’s temple—light, deliberate. “I love you,” Meredith murmured into her skin, voice rough with morning and truth.
Addison’s hold tightened just the slightest bit. “I love you too.” A few seconds passed—the kind that felt like years and also not nearly long enough—before Meredith straightened, brushing her fingers lightly along Addison’s collar, a quiet, reaffirming gesture.
“We’ve survived worse than Sadie Harris,” she said with a confident smile.
Addison huffed a laugh. “God, I hope so.”
Meredith kissed her—just a press of warmth, a promise, a grounding point. “Ready?” she whispered against Addison’s lips.
“No,” Addison said honestly. Then: “But with you? Yes.”
Once the lift door closed, Addison exhaled heavily. She smoothed her coat once more before the doors opened again and she headed toward the maternity ward. Her shift mode clicked in—focused, calm, collected. She stepped into the OB wing just as a chart was handed in her direction. At the other end of it stood Sadie. Addison’s posture stiffened before she could stop herself.
“Dr. Montgomery,” Sadie drawled, handing over the chart with deliberate casualness. “Looks like I’m on your service this week.”
Addison gave her a professional, unreadable nod. “Good. We have a few high-risk cases, so I’ll expect you to keep up.”
Sadie’s grin was sharp. “Oh, I always keep up. Meredith used to like that about me.”
Addison didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Dr. Harris,” she said evenly, “we’re at work. Let’s keep this professional.”
“Of course.” Sadie stepped closer, too close. “I was just still surprised at Meredith wanting to settle down” She tilted her head. “Didn’t know she had that in her.”
Addison met her gaze head-on, voice smooth as glass. “People grow. Make smarter choices” A beat. “Shall we start rounds?”
Sadie blinked, caught off-guard for half a second. Then she smiled again—slow, deliberate, provocative. “Lead the way, Dr. Montgomery.”
Addison walked ahead, spine straight, every step controlled. She wouldn’t give Sadie the satisfaction—not of a reaction, not of a crack, not of anything. But her mind flicked, briefly, to Meredith’s warm hand in hers only moments earlier. Grounding her. Choosing her.
Addison stood beside the first patient’s bed, gel already warming on the ultrasound machine. “Dr. Harris, you’re leading this one,” she said, stepping aside to give Sadie the probe. “Twenty-two weeks, routine scan, but she’s been having intermittent pain. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Sadie nodded brightly—too brightly. “Of course, Dr. Montgomery.” The patient smiled nervously. Sadie smiled back charmingly. Addison watched closely. Sadie set the probe down and immediately angled it incorrectly, too shallow. The screen displayed a messy blur of grey.
“Stop,” Addison said, voice even but clipped. “If you angle it like that, you’re scanning her bowel. Try again, with a posterior tilt.” Sadie adjusted, her brows tightening just slightly. The fetus came into view—barely. “Better,” Addison said. “But you’re still low. Look at the landmarks. Uterine wall here. Amniotic space here. Try visualising the spine.”
“Right.” Sadie shifted the probe again. The image wobbled. Addison bit back the urge to take over entirely.
“There,” Addison said, pointing. “Freeze it. Now measure biparietal diameter.” Sadie clicked—too fast, too careless, landing a few millimetres off. To the untrained eye, nothing. To Addison.. It was sloppy. “Harris,” Addison said calmly. “Your landmarks are off. A few millimetres can change gestational age. Let's redo it, don't just guess”
Sadie smirked, that crooked, knowing one that was already becoming her trademark. “Guessing worked just fine in Dublin,” she said lightly.
“It won’t work here,” Addison replied, tone clipped but controlled. “Again.” Sadie tried again, slower this time. Addison nodded, professional but distant. “Good. Better. Let’s finish documenting.”
They wrapped up with the patient—Addison reassuring her with practiced, easy warmth—and stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind them. Addison immediately dropped the polite smile. “Dr. Harris, you need to brush up on your OB fundamentals,” she said, her voice low enough not to carry. “You’re behind where a resident at your level should be. Significantly.”
Sadie’s cheeks flushed a sharp, blotchy red—anger, embarrassment, a cocktail of both. “Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You really think I’m that far behind? Or is this because you don’t like that I knew Meredith before you did?”
Addison’s expression didn’t move. Not a flicker. But her eyes cooled, just a shade. “This isn’t about Meredith, this is about proper patient care,” she said evenly. “Nothing else. If you want to be in my OR or work on my cases you bring your A-game. Not stories from backpacking through Europe.”
Sadie’s smile sharpened. Predatory. “Right. Europe. Where Mer and I got very familiar with anatomy long before med school.” She took a step closer, voice dropping into something poisonous but controlled. “Tell me something, Dr. Montgomery,” she murmured. “Does it bother you that I had her first? That she was mine before she even knew who she wanted to be?”
Addison inhaled—slow, deep, controlled, but her patience thinned to the width of a scalpel blade. “If you bring my fiancée into this again, Dr. Harris, I promise you—your evaluations will reflect exactly how much effort you spend trying to provoke me instead of learning medicine.” Her voice dropped to something cool and surgical. “Review the material,” she said simply. “You’re dismissed.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
Behind her, Sadie muttered just loud enough for Addison to hear: “Guess Meredith wasn’t the only thing I can get under.”
Addison didn’t look back, but her shoulders tightened—and the line had been crossed.
Meredith was scanning the OR board, pen between her teeth, trying to shuffle two important cases without losing her mind, when someone cleared their throat beside her. She turned — and promptly lost her place in the entire space-time continuum.
“Dr. Grey?” the resident asked, offering a polite smile.
Meredith blinked. Oh.
“I’m Jackson Avery,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m on your service today. I’ve… seen you around, but we haven’t officially met.”
Meredith shook his hand, momentarily distracted by the ridiculous blue of his eyes — the kind that shouldn’t be allowed on a surgical resident. Or any human, really. “Avery?” she said, arching a brow. “As in—?”
“Yes,” he cut in immediately, smile tight, clearly used to this. “That Avery. Trust me, it’s… not as glamorous as people think. I know you can relate.”
Meredith huffed a quiet, humourless laugh. “Pressure, expectation, a legacy you didn’t ask for? Yeah. It’s a blast.”
Jackson’s expression softened, something like understanding flickering in his eyes. It was subtle, but real. Meredith flipped through a stack of charts and shoved three into his hands. “Round on the pre-ops please. Page me if anyone looks even slightly off.”
“Got it,” he nodded, already scanning the first chart as he walked away.
The moment he rounded the corner, a low whistle sounded behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. “Please don’t start,” she groaned.
Alex leaned against the board with an exaggerated smirk. “Meredith Grey, engaged woman, loyal fiancée, absolutely drowning in Dr. Avery’s Disney-prince eyes.” He tsk’d. “Should I warn Addison? Or is Sadie already keeping her on her toes enough?”
Meredith elbowed him — hard. “Shut up. His eyes should be illegal. It’s rude to look like that while the rest of us are just trying to be a functional humans.”
“Right?” Alex laughed. “No wonder Mark loves having him on plastics. The guy walks into a room and half the patients forget why they even came in.”
Meredith snorted. “Yeah well, at least someone around here should look pretty while they work.”
Alex placed a hand over his heart. “Meredith Grey… admitting someone other than Addison is pretty? Should I call for a Neuro consult?”
“Oh, go scrub in,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she pushed off the board.
Alex grinned wider. “Whatever you say. Just try not to get lost in Avery’s eyes again — wouldn’t want you walking into a wall.” He shrugged, “or you know, fall into an open patient.”
She flipped him off over her shoulder, smiling despite herself.
Mark was leaning against the nurses’ station, chart in hand, when Addison came storming down the hall like a red-haired hurricane in heels. “Whoa,” he said, stepping back. “Do I need to call a Code Redhead or are you just naturally radiating murder today?”
“Not now, Mark,” Addison muttered, flipping through a chart with far more force than necessary.
Callie rounded the corner just in time to see it. “Oh good,” she said. “Another one of these days.”
Addison slammed the chart shut. “I swear to God, if Sadie says one more— one more— inappropriate thing in front of a patient, a nurse, a wall, oxygen molecules, anything...I am going to lose my board certifications because I will strangle her with my bare hands.”
Mark exchanged a look with Callie — the kind that said yes, this is entertaining, let’s absolutely encourage her to continue. “What’d she do this time?” Callie asked.
Addison shoved a hand through her hair. “She screwed up a basic ultrasound. An ultrasound. Then implied—no, not implied, boasted—that she and Meredith were apparently… what was the phrase? ‘Very familiar with anatomy’ on their little European backpacking tour.”
Mark snorted. “Define very.”
Callie elbowed him. “Seriously, Addie, you know she’s just pushing your buttons.”
“Oh, she’s not pushing,” Addison snapped. “She is jackhammering.” She paced a small circuit, hands moving wildly. “And the worst part? I know exactly what she’s doing. I know she’s trying to get under my skin, and it’s still working.”
Callie’s brow softened—not pity, just understanding. “Because it’s about Meredith.”
Mark crossed his arms, a little smug, a little sympathetic. “And this blast-from-the-past gremlin has intimate knowledge of her.”
Addison groaned. “It's not —”
Callie cut her off “Yes it is.”
Mark grinned, “Absolutely is.”
Addison glared at both of them. “You two are zero help.”
Callie clapped her on the back. “We never claimed otherwise.”
Mark leaned in slightly. “Look, Addie. Let Sadie play whatever game she thinks she’s playing. You’re you. Stay professional. Stay calm, and when she screws up again—which she will—correct her, shut her down, and don’t give her the satisfaction of reacting.”
Addison sighed heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”
“I know,” Mark said. “It’s one of my best qualities.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “Top five. Maybe.”
Addison finally cracked a reluctant smile — a small one, but real. “Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime,” Callie replied, linking her arm through Addison’s and starting to walk her toward the attending lounge. “Now come on. Let’s get you a coffee before you actually throttle someone.”
Mark called after them, “If you do throttle someone, at least let me observe. For science.” Addison didn’t turn around, but she raised her hand and flipped him off over her shoulder. Mark grinned. “She’s feeling better already.”
Addison had just stepped out of an exam room, chart tucked under her arm, when Sadie appeared at her elbow like a smug little ghost. “Dr. Montgomery,” she purred. “Got a minute?”
Addison inhaled through her nose. Professional. Professional. Professional. “Make it quick,” she said.
Sadie fell into step beside her, hands in her pockets, loose, casual — too casual. The kind of casual someone wears right before they try something stupid. “So I’ve been thinking,” Sadie began, “you were pretty harsh on me earlier.”
Addison didn’t break stride. “I corrected your ultrasound technique because it was wrong. That’s not harsh. That’s literally my job.”
“Mm.” Sadie tilted her head. “Sure. But that felt… personal.”
“It wasn’t.”
Sadie smiled — slow, sly. “You know, you’re a lot more fun when Meredith’s around. It’s sweet, the two of you. I remember that version of her, the one that liked to have fun” She paused, watching Addison’s jaw tighten. “She always said she'd never get married. Not after the way she used to talk about her screwed up family. Damage like that usually sticks.”
Addison stopped walking, causing Sadie to nearly barrel into her. “Watch it,” Addison said, voice ice.
Sadie’s smile widened. She smelled blood. “Relax. It’s not like I’m saying I know her better than you—”
“You don’t,” Addison cut in sharply.
Sadie shrugged. “I knew her first.”
“Meredith is not a toy you get points for calling early dibs on.”
“Didn’t say she was.”
“But that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Addison stepped closer, voice low but lethal. “Trying to rile me. Trying to make me jealous. Trying to convince yourself you still matter to her.”
Sadie’s eyes narrowed, she kept her chin high but Addison wasn’t done. “You cheated on her,” she said flatly. “You hurt her. You walked away. That was the entire extent of your impact in her life. So don’t—” Her voice shook, once, barely noticeable unless you were listening for it. “Don’t pretend you know the woman she is now.”
Sadie’s bravado flickered — barely, but Addison caught it, and Sadie hated that. “Wow,” Sadie murmured. “Hit a nerve, huh?”
“No.” Addison stepped back, posture smoothing into something cool and terrifyingly controlled. “You’re clearly just not used to people calling out your bullshit.” Sadie’s jaw tightened. Addison continued, voice crisp and clinical: “You’re behind where you should be as a resident. Your bedside manner is inconsistent. Your technique is sloppy and your attitude is completely unprofessional. If you want to work on my service, brush up. Or request a transfer.”
They locked eyes — Sadie’s simmering with challenge, Addison’s carved from ice. Then Sadie asked, with a fake innocence that made Addison want to scream:
“Do you think Meredith would request a transfer? You know…From you?”
Addison smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “I think,” she said steadily, “that Meredith Grey chooses exactly where she wants to be. And now? That’s with me. Sorry if that ruins your nostalgia tour.”
Sadie’s face darkened. Addison turned on her heel, walking away without another glance, spine straight, steps steady. Only when she was completely out of Sadie’s line of sight did she exhale — shaky, hot, furious.
Meredith had just stepped out of the scrub room when the pager buzzed against her hip. On-call Room 3.
Her pulse jumped.
Meredith had barely walked through the doorway of the room before she was pressed back against the door, hearing the lock click into place. She didn’t even have time to speak; Addison’s hands were already in her hair, her mouth crashing into hers with a force that stole the air right out of her lungs.
Meredith’s head hit the door. Hard. Addison chased her mouth like she’d been starving for it, kissing her deep, bruising, desperate — teeth scraping her lower lip, tongue pushing inside before Meredith could catch her breath. “Addison—” Meredith managed, but her voice broke into a moan when Addison grabbed her hips and dragged her forward, slotting her thigh between Meredith’s legs.
“I need you,” Addison breathed against her mouth, voice uneven, raw. Meredith’s fingers fisted in the back of Addison’s scrub top, pulling her closer, grinding down on the strong thigh pressed between her legs.
“Yeah,” Meredith gasped, “I can tell.”
Addison kissed down her throat, open-mouthed and hungry, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that would be impossible to hide later — and absolutely didn’t care. She bit at Meredith’s pulse point, making Meredith’s knees buckle. “Bed,” Addison demanded, her voice deeper than Meredith had ever heard it, all control and desire mixed into one.
Meredith let herself be guided backward until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Addison pushed her gently, but with purpose, and Meredith went down without resistance. Addison climbed over her immediately, bracing herself above Meredith on her forearms, breathing heavy, eyes dark with something fierce.
“I want to feel you,” Addison whispered, kissing her again, slow for one second — and then rough enough to pull a startled, needy sound from Meredith’s chest. Addison’s hands roamed — under Meredith’s scrub top, over the warm skin of her ribs, her stomach, her breasts. “God, you’re sexy” Addison murmured, dipping her head to kiss over the fabric on her chest, then biting lightly. Meredith moved a hand to the back of Addison’s head, just holding her there, needing the contact, needing her.
“Addison,” Meredith breathed, hips lifting without permission. “Please.”
That word lit Addison up. She pulled Meredith’s scrub top up and over her head in one motion, tossing it somewhere on the floor, then kissed her before trailing her mouth down her chest, over her ribs, lower and lower. When she reached the waistband of Meredith’s scrub pants, she looked up, eyes locked with hers. “Do you want me to stop?” Addison whispered.
Meredith shook her head instantly. “Don’t you dare.”
Addison smirked — wicked, relieved, turned on beyond belief — and tugged Meredith’s scrub pants and underwear down together, leaving her bare and trembling on the bed. Meredith’s breath stuttered when Addison spread her thighs with confident, steady hands. Addison leaned in and kissed the inside of Meredith’s knee first.
Then the inside of her thigh.
Then higher.
Meredith’s entire body shuddered. “Addison—fuck—”
Addison’s mouth closed over her, hot and slow at first — a long, deliberate drag of her tongue that tore a sound from Meredith so raw she had to bite her hand to muffle it. “I want to hear you,” Addison murmured against her, voice vibrating through her.
Meredith obeyed instantly, dropping her head back and letting the sounds out — breathy, desperate, absolutely undone. Addison held her open and went back in — deeper this time, tongue circling, lips tightening just enough to make Meredith cry out. Her hips lifted, grinding helplessly, and Addison moaned against her like the taste alone was undoing her.
“You’re so perfect,” Addison breathed.
Meredith would’ve argued. Would’ve teased her. Would’ve said something smart. But Addison slid two fingers inside her in the same moment her tongue touched her just right — and Meredith shattered. Her back arched off the bed, hands clawing at the sheets, Addison’s name torn from her like something primal and unstoppable.
Addison held her through every wave, kissing her thighs, her hips, her stomach — gentle now, grounding her back into her body, whispering soft praises against her skin. When Meredith finally opened her eyes, Addison was hovering above her again, brushing her hair back, her expression soft and wrecked all at once. “You okay?” Addison asked, breath still uneven.
Meredith nodded, pulling her down into a slow, dizzying kiss. “You?” she murmured against her lips.
Addison exhaled shakily. “Better now.”
Meredith smiled — that small, rare smile she reserved only for Addison — and flipped them, straddling her, hands already sliding down Addison’s ribs. “Good,” Meredith whispered. “Because now it’s my turn.”
Meredith lay with her head tucked beneath Addison’s chin, Addison’s fingers tracing steady circles along her spine. For a long moment, they just existed like that — breathing, grounding. Then Addison murmured, “You okay?”
Meredith nodded. “Yeah… I’m good.” Her lips curved in a small, tired smile. “What about you?” She lifted her head, a sly smile on her face. “That was unexpected.”
Addison exhaled, a sound somewhere between frustration and relief. “Yeah...just...I don't know”
Meredith’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”
Addison leaned back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Meredith’s face. “Sadie. She thought she could needle me about you, about your shared past. About… everything she thinks she knows about us.” Her voice dropped, low and hard. “She tried to make me jealous. Tried to make me doubt myself.”
Meredith let out a soft, disbelieving huff. “She really doesn’t know when to quit.”
“Quit?” Addison gave a small, humourless laugh. “She was trying to pry her way into places she has no right to touch. I had to remind her—professionally—that whatever history she thinks she owns, she doesn’t own you.”
Meredith’s expression gentled, her thumb brushing lightly along Addison’s jaw. “And?”
Addison exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if steadying herself. When she opened them again, they were darker, quieter. “And she’s lucky,” she said, forehead lowering until it rested against Meredith’s, “that I was wearing my hospital face. Because if we’d been anywhere else, I would’ve made it very, very clear who you come home to.”
A soft smile tugged at Meredith’s lips. She closed the small gap between them, brushing their mouths together in a feather-light kiss. “Sadie doesn’t know me,” she murmured against Addison’s lips. “Not who I am now. Only you do.”
Addison’s breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound. Meredith traced her thumb over the corner of Addison’s mouth, grounding her. “I’m here,” Meredith whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something inside Addison melted—visible only in the way her hand at Meredith’s waist tightened, pulling her impossibly close. “I know,” Addison whispered back, voice barely there. They stayed pressed together, foreheads touching, breathing the same breath. The world outside could whirl and pull and try to shake them—but here, wrapped around each other, they were steady. Quiet. Unshakeable.
A calm, fierce anchor in the storm.
Grounded.
Reaffirmed.
Together.
Meredith and Addison emerged from the on-call room, still a little flushed and clearly… close. Addison’s hand lingered on Meredith’s lower back, subtle, but noticeable. Cristina was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. She raised an eyebrow. “Well,” she said, voice dripping with mock severity. “I definitely smell trouble, and judging by the gleam in your eyes… I’d say it was less ‘work emergency’ and more… hands-on training.”
Addison froze. Meredith’s lips twitched into a smirk.
Cristina stepped closer, tilting her head, eyes sharp. “Honestly, I’m impressed. That was… ambitious, and precise. Good vocal technique, both of you. But really, in an on-call room? Those are designated quiet zones.”
Meredith groaned softly. “Cristina—”
“Nope. No excuses,” Cristina said, wagging a finger. “I don’t care if you were under stress, adrenaline, life-or-death patient scenarios… whatever that was, it was loud. I have ears.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you always work this… intensely together?”
Addison rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Cristina, let’s keep it professional please.”
Cristina snorted. “Sure. Professional. Let’s call it… extracurricular medicine.” She straightened, giving them both a long, calculating look. “And the hand placement? Bold. Probably OSHA-violating.”
Addison laughed outright this time, Meredith’s eyes rolled.
Cristina winked. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You know I’ll be rating your vocal performance. Very thorough. Very… memorable.” She smirked again, clearly delighted. “I may even write it up. For posterity.”
Meredith groaned. “You’re impossible.”
Cristina shrugged. “And yet, unforgettable. Carry on, you two. Try not to injure each other in the process.”
As Cristina walked away, Meredith and Addison exchanged a look, laughing quietly. The tension of the day melted just a little. “Seriously,” Meredith said, shaking her head, “she’s relentless.”
Addison pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “Kind of hilarious though.”
Teddy was rummaging through a stack of charts at the nurse’s station when Addison appeared. Without looking up, she said, far too casually: “Dr. Montgomery… congratulations on your acoustic performance, I hear it was phenomenal.”
Addison stopped dead. “…Excuse me?”
“Oh don’t play innocent,” Teddy said, biting back a laugh. “Apparently half the hallway got front-row audio. Three nurses, a janitor, and possibly an ultrasound tech who claims you owe her noise-cancelling headphones.”
Addison pressed both palms over her face. “Oh my god,”
Teddy tapped her pen thoughtfully. “Honestly, Addison… I didn’t realise you had that kind of projection.”
Addison groaned loudly. “Can this hospital burn down before lunch? Please?”
“And,” Teddy added, smirking, “I’m choosing to be deeply impressed on Meredith’s behalf.”
Then Addison’s mortification shifted into a small, smug smile she couldn’t quite contain. “Well.. She’s got great stamina.”
“So everyone heard, loudly.”
Addison nudged her shoulder. “Shut up.”
Teddy’s laugh softened into something gentler, more tentative. She picked at the edge of her ID badge, eyes flicking down. “Cristina told me she loves me,” she said quietly. “Like… literally showed up at my place at two in the morning saying she wants us to live together.”
Addison blinked, warmth blooming across her chest. “Teddy. That’s—god—that’s huge.”
“It was so Cristina,” Teddy said, smiling sheepishly. “Emotionally constipated, dramatic timing, terrible delivery… but it was real. And I think she means it.”
Addison rested her chin in her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
Teddy shrugged, eyes a little misty. “It’s terrifying.”
“Of course it is,” Addison said lightly. “You’re about to learn what it’s like to coexist with Cristina Yang. Godspeed.”
Teddy snorted, wiping subtly at her eye. “I’ll take any advice you’ve got.”
“Well...with Meredith…” she began slowly, “…we didn’t really get to ease into anything.”
Teddy’s brows rose. “You two seem so—”
“Solid?” Addison finished. “We are. Now. But getting here… wasn’t simple.” The shift in the room was instant—humour fading, the air cooling into something soft and heavy. “You saw her, when she came back from Iraq, ” Addison continued carefully. “We didn’t just pick up where we left off, we couldn’t. I mean….She was missing for six months.”
The words scraped out of her. “I grieved her. I was trying to live with the idea that she… might never come home.” Her voice wavered. “Then she was back and she was alive but she wasn’t… home. Not yet.”
Teddy’s smile was gentle, encouraging.
“She came back, but she was hurting. Haunted.” Addison whispered. “And she kept trying to shield me from it, like being close to her would somehow break me.” Addison took a breath. “We spent months in therapy,” she said, swallowing. “Months learning how to talk to each other again. I had to learn who she’d become. She had to learn who I’d been without her. We had to decide if those two people could still fit together.”
She looked down at her hands, twisting her engagement ring subconsciously. “Some days I didn’t know if we’d make it. She was so far away sometimes, even sitting right in front of me. And I—” Addison exhaled shakily. “I was so afraid of hurting her more.”
Teddy squeezed her forearm. “Addison…”
“But we worked on it,” Addison whispered. “Everyday we worked, and we found our way back. Not to who we were before—because that version of us died in the desert—but to who we are now.” She wiped her cheek with her sleeve. “Because she never stopped trying, and neither did I.”
Teddy reached over, squeezing her hand. “You built something stronger.”
Addison nodded, tears gathering but not falling. “Yeah. We did.” She laughed lightly, “Your situation is a bit different but when you tell me Cristina showed up at your door at 2AM saying she loves you? That’s something telling.” She squeezed Teddy’s hand lightly, “You two get to build something, everything. I guess my advice is to never stop trying, never stop talking to each other.”
Teddy’s breath shook, but she was smiling—wide and bright and a little terrified. Addison nudged her shoulder. “And for the record? Living with someone you’re in love with is the best kind of terrifying.”
Teddy laughed loudly. “Says the woman who shook the hospital to it's foundations this afternoon.”
Addison groaned into her hand. “I hate you.”
“You don’t,” Teddy grinned. “But the hospital’s very proud.”
Addison shook her head—but her smile was soft, full, and completely unashamed.
It was cool enough that Meredith had her jacket zipped to her chin, but she tilted her face up toward the sun anyway, relishing the warmth. After the last couple weeks, even weak daylight felt like therapy. She had just closed her eyes when a tray clattered onto the table beside her. Alex flopped into the chair with a smirk already locked in like it had been waiting all morning to be unleashed. Jo took the seat on Meredith’s other side, giving him a warning nudge.
“What,” Meredith said, eyeing him, “is that face?”
“What face?” Alex asked innocently — which only made it worse.
“That face,” Meredith repeated, pointing at him. “The one that means you know something you shouldn’t.”
His smirk widened. “I mean… I just think it’s impressive.”
Jo groaned. “Alex…”
He leaned back, smug as hell. “Word around the hospital is you and Addison had a very productive discussion in the on-call room this morning.”
Meredith’s soul briefly evacuated her body. “Oh my God.”
“‘Very productive,’” Jo echoed, sipping her drink like she was reviewing data.
“I heard three nurses debating whether they should start a petition for reinforced soundproofing,” Alex added, eyebrows dancing.
“Alex!” Meredith covered her face with both hands.
Jo patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Alex is just jealous of your technique.”
Alex sputtered. “Hey!”
Jo winked at him. Meredith burst out laughing, cheeks going bright pink. “Why are the two of you like this?”
“We're emotional enrichment,” Jo said.
“You're a nightmare,” Meredith corrected.
Before Alex could retaliate, Mark Sloan dropped into the remaining seat with the heaviest sigh Meredith had ever heard. “Oh God,” she muttered. “What now?”
“Jackson,” Mark said dramatically. “He’s on your service this week.”
“And?” Meredith asked warily.
“And you better be treating him right.”
Jo blinked. Alex frowned. Meredith stared. “…Mark, Jackson is not your child.”
“He’s my protégé,” Mark objected. “He’s delicate. He needs nurturing.”
Alex snorted. “Dude, your actual girlfriend is Lexie, not Avery.”
Mark glared at him, then turned back to Meredith. “Speaking of Lexie — you should check on her.”
“Why me?”
“She’s been… off.” For once, Mark looked genuinely concerned. “Distant. Not her usual ‘overly excited about things Meredith finds boring’ self.”
Meredith narrowed her eyes. “Did you just call me boring?”
Mark ignored that. “Just talk to her. She listens to you. Kind of.”
“She really doesn’t.”
“But she likes you. Close enough.”
Meredith huffed a laugh. “I’ll check on her.”
Mark sagged in relief. “Good. Great. Fantastic. Now someone distract me before I remember April Kepner is on my service instead of my golden boy.”
Alex tossed him a fry. “Here. Eat your feelings.”
Mark chewed sadly. “I miss the Plastics Posse.”
“We know,” everyone said in unison.
Before Mark could fire back, Addison and Teddy approached, coffees in hand. Addison looked disarmingly bright for someone who’d been up since dawn.
Mark arched a brow. “If it isn’t Seattle Grace’s newest celebrity. Should we bow? Curtsy? I’m not sure of the etiquette for congratulating someone on hallway-echoing on-call sex.”
Jo snorted water. Alex nearly choked. Addison slipped into the seat beside Meredith, perfectly composed. “Mark,” she said mildly. “Nice to see you’re still overcompensating for… everything, with humour.”
Teddy covered her mouth, laughing. Mark gasped. “Low blow.”
Meredith’s face went crimson. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Teddy said warmly, sitting next to Addison. “And if you didn’t want the hospital to know, maybe don’t shake the ventilation system.”
“Teddy,” Meredith groaned.
Alex leaned back like he’d been personally blessed. “This is the greatest day of my life.”
Addison gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Karev, I can and will have your fellowship reassigned to geriatrics.”
Jo elbowed him. “Shut up before she actually does it.”
Mark tipped his head. “Seriously though, Red — proud of you. Didn’t think you had it in you anymore. All that professionalism.”
Addison smiled — slow, smug, impossible. “Oh, I’m still very professional. I just also happen to be very… motivated.”
Meredith hid her face in her hands again. “Please stop talking.”
The group cackled. Addison, amused and far more relaxed than she’d expected to be today, rubbed small circles on Meredith’s back until she peeked through her fingers. Addison winked at her — soft, private, grounding.
Meredith breathed, Addison smiled, and despite the chaos, the gossip, the cool air…everything felt exactly right.
Meredith found Lexie exactly where Mark said she’d be: tucked away in a corner of the conference room, surrounded by an intimidating stack of charts. The fluorescent lights made her look smaller somehow, washed-out, like she’d been sitting in the same spot for hours and forgotten she had a body underneath all that worry.
Meredith didn’t announce herself. She slipped in quietly and took the chair across from her, sitting down with the slow, careful movement of someone approaching a skittish animal. Lexie didn’t look up — just kept scribbling vitals and signing orders with that too-tight grip she had when she was spiralling.
Meredith waited. A full minute passed before Lexie finally exhaled and lifted her head. Her eyes were tired, ringed faintly pink, and she gave Meredith a small, defeated half-smile. “If you’re here to check on me,” she said softly. “You’re not going to want to hear it.”
Meredith kept her voice steady. “Tell me anyway.”
Lexie closed the chart slowly, almost ceremoniously, like she needed both hands free for what she was about to admit. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, took a breath that shook a little. “I’ve been visiting my Dad,” she said.
Meredith blinked, trying not to tense visibly. “Okay.”
“Just… a few times. The last couple months.” Lexie’s fingers twisted together. "I don’t know if he’s drinking again.”
Meredith’s muscles locked before she could stop them. Lexie noticed — of course she noticed — but pushed forward anyway. “He says he’s not and maybe he isn’t, I don’t know. It’s not like before. It’s not obvious.” She looked down at her hands. “But he doesn’t seem well, Mer. He seems… shaky. Off. Like he’s trying really hard to look fine for me but isn’t actually fine.”
Meredith swallowed. Her stomach had gone cold.
Lexie’s voice cracked, just barely. “I’m worried.”
Meredith stared at her sister — really stared. Lexie looked so young in that moment. Not in years, but in hope. In wanting something from their father that Meredith had stopped expecting a long time ago. She inhaled slowly. “You didn’t want to tell me because…?”
“Because you and him…” Lexie trailed off with a helpless shrug. “It’s not easy. For you. I know that. I didn’t want to make you feel obligated or guilty or—”
“Hey.” Meredith leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “You’re allowed to worry about him. You’re also allowed to tell me things, even when they’re hard.” Lexie’s throat bobbed as she nodded. “And,” Meredith added, quieter, “you’re my sister. I don’t like talking about him. But I don’t want you to think you have to handle this by yourself.”
Lexie blinked, surprised enough that her eyes glossed. “Meredith…”
Meredith reached out and placed a hand over Lexie’s — awkward but sincere. “I’ll go with you.”
Lexie’s breath hitched. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Meredith said. “But I will. On our next day off, we’ll go together.”
Lexie looked down at their hands, then back up at her with a mixture of relief and heartbreak. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Meredith squeezed gently. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re my family.”
Lexie nodded, wiping under one eye quickly before reopening the chart in front of her — but the tension in her shoulders had eased, if only a little.
Addison and Meredith stepped into the attending lounge to find Teddy and Cristina already inside — Teddy with a coffee the size of her head, Cristina elbow-deep in a vending machine that had clearly eaten her dollar. “This machine is a criminal,” Cristina announced without looking back. “A menace. A blight on society.”
Teddy sipped her coffee. “You could just ask for another dollar.”
Cristina shot her a betrayed look. “That’s not the point. It’s the principle.”
Meredith dropped onto the couch beside Addison, fighting a smile. “You say that like you don’t have a whole drawer of stolen vending-machine snacks in your desk.”
Cristina squinted at her. “…That’s classified information.”
Addison snorted. “And yet, somehow, everyone knows.”
Cristina pointed an accusatory finger. “You know because you search my desk for chocolate.”
“I search everyone’s desk for chocolate,” Addison said casually. “Equal-opportunity looting.”
Teddy laughed into her coffee. “She’s not even ashamed.”
“That's because she has no shame,” Meredith said, leaning into Addison with just enough affection that Cristina groaned dramatically.
“Oh my God,” Cristina muttered. “Are we doing feelings today? Is this the vibe? Because I did not sign up—”
“You're about to live with Teddy,” Meredith shot back. “You absolutely signed up for feelings.”
Teddy blinked, scandalised. “I am not the feelings one!”
Cristina and Meredith spoke at the same time. “You absolutely are.” “You 100% are.”
Addison raised her cup in salute. “Consensus reached.”
Before Teddy could respond, the door swung open and Callie stepped in, followed by Arizona, who was very clearly in the middle of a rant. “I’m just saying,” Arizona said, hands waving dramatically, “if you tell a resident to order one unit, why would they order four? FOUR! That’s not a misunderstanding, that’s math crime.”
Callie dropped her bag on the table. “I swear you get more dramatic every day.”
Arizona froze. “Oh. Are we interrupting a thing?”
Meredith deadpanned, “Just Cristina losing a fight with gravity and a potato-chip bag.”
Cristina pointed at the vending machine again. “IT STOLE FROM ME.” Callie walked over and slapped the side of it once. The bag dropped immediately. Cristina stared. “Okay. You’re my new god.”
Callie tossed it to her. “I accept the title.”
Addison shook her head, smirking. “You realise you just validated all her worst behaviours, right?”
Cristina was already tearing open the bag. “Don’t care. Worth it.”
Arizona sat beside Teddy, swinging her legs off the table edge. “So. What’s everyone doing tonight? Group dinner? Drinks? A ritual sacrifice to the vending machine gods?”
Meredith leaned back, shoulder brushing Addison’s. “As long as I’m not doing the sacrificing.”
Cristina lifted her chips. “You already did. You sacrificed your peace by being friends with us.”
Addison held up her cup. “Cheers to that.”
The lounge filled with easy laughter, chatter overlapping, the kind of warm normalcy that felt rare and earned. It wasn’t dramatic, or painful, or heavy. It was just them. Exactly what they all needed.
That evening, Addison walked into the living room with two steaming mugs of tea, the soft lamplight catching the curls of heat rising off the surface. She set them on the coffee table, then curled herself onto the couch beside Meredith, slipping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her in with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly where Meredith fit against her body.
Meredith went willingly, sinking into Addison’s chest like the place had been carved there for her alone. Addison pressed a slow kiss into her hairline. Meredith exhaled—a long, unraveling breath that seemed to slide tension down her spine and out of her limbs. She tipped her chin up, offering her lips in a wordless invitation.
Addison’s answering smile was soft, unbearably fond. “God, you’re cute,” she murmured before kissing her—gentle, deliberate, reassuring. She toyed at her bottom lip with her teeth, just enough to coax a tiny sound from her, then tucked stray blonde strands behind Meredith’s ear. For a while, silence. Just breath and warmth and contact.
Eventually Meredith whispered, “You can ask. I can feel you wanting to ask.”
Addison huffed a quiet laugh. “You know me too well.”
“I’d hope so.”
Addison traced the line of her cheek with her knuckles. “How are you feeling? Really.”
Meredith hesitated—not because she didn’t trust Addison, but because she didn’t trust the truth not to hurt when she said it aloud. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Seeing Lexie like that… hearing about him—” She shook her head. “The last time I saw my father wasn’t exactly a moment I want to revisit.”
Addison’s hand moved down to squeeze her wrist gently, “I know.”
She did know—because Meredith had told her. About Susan. About losing her. About Thatcher’s grief-turned-cruelty in the hospital lobby. About the slap. The ugly words. The shattering disappointment Meredith still pretended didn’t sting. Meredith pulled away just enough to sit up and reach for her tea. She held the mug between both hands, letting the heat soak into her palms while she stared at nothing.
“Hey,” Addison murmured, covering Meredith’s hand with her own. “I can go with you, if you want.” Her fingers threaded through Meredith’s, firm but tender. “Play the part of the only functional adult in the Grey family.”
Meredith rolled her eyes, but her mouth tugged upward — that small, reluctant smile she only ever let slip for Addison. The kind that meant her guard had dropped without her noticing. Setting her mug down, she reached out, cupped Addison’s jaw, and pulled her into a slow, grateful kiss. Addison hummed, smiling against her lips as she slid her hands to Meredith’s waist and drew her lazily into her lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Meredith pulled back just enough to breathe, her thumb brushing along Addison’s cheekbone with something close to wonder.
Addison tilted her head. “What?”
“You,” Meredith murmured, kissing her again — feather-light. “Are so—” another kiss, deeper this time, “beautiful.”
Addison made a soft sound in her throat, the kind that only existed for Meredith. She wrapped her arms around her, kissing her back with slow, sinking warmth, soft heat blooming between them in a way that felt like home. Her hands slipped beneath the hem of Meredith’s shirt, fingertips skating over warm skin.
Meredith looped her arms around Addison’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. They melted into each other — no rush, no sharp edges, just the quiet intimacy of two people who’d survived a long day and found their way back into the same breath. Meredith kissed her again, slower this time, a lingering slide of lips that felt like a thank-you and a promise wrapped into one.
Addison’s hands traced up Meredith’s back, settling against her shoulder blades, holding her in a way that was protective and tender and completely undone by love. Meredith exhaled against her mouth, sinking deeper into her arms, her whole body softening like she trusted Addison to hold every part of her, and Addison did. She held her through the quiet, through the exhaustion, through the fragile edges Meredith didn’t show anyone else. She stroked slow lines down her spine, grounding her, steadying her.
Meredith hid her face in Addison’s shoulder, breath trembling just slightly — not sad, not overwhelmed, just safe. Addison didn’t speak. She didn’t push. She just pressed a kiss into Meredith’s hair and wrapped her arms around her tighter, letting the moment stretch between them — warm, domestic, perfectly ordinary, and quietly extraordinary.
Meredith whispered into her collarbone, voice small and soft, “I love you.”
Addison’s eyes fluttered shut as she held her close. “I love you too, sweetheart,” she breathed. “More than anything.”
The rest of the night unfolded just like that — tangled together on the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world quiet, and their love louder in the silence than words could ever make it.
Chapter Text
Mark Sloan sat in the OR gallery like a man watching his child get dropped off at their first day of school, arms folded, chin tilted down dramatically. Below, Jackson was operating with Meredith — a straightforward laparoscopic procedure. Jackson had the instruments in hand, Meredith assisting from across the table like a calm, steady shadow. “You’re doing great,” Meredith said, “Rotate your wrist… yep, like that. Nice.”
“You know, my mother used to brag about my fine motor skills before I could walk,” Jackson joked.
“My mother was Ellis Grey,” Meredith deadpanned. “You think I got praised for anything short of stitching my dolls back together with perfect intracuticular technique?”
“Touché.”
In the gallery, Mark let out a suffering groan and slumped farther into the seat. Callie and Arizona entered behind him, coffees in hand. Callie blinked. “Oh wow. Is this… sulking? Actual sulking? In the wild?”
Arizona leaned over, “Mark, what are you even doing?”
“I,” he said, pointing down through the glass, “am watching my resident being stolen.”
Callie frowned. “Meredith stole Jackson?”
“Yes,” Mark hissed. “She seduced him.”
Arizona snorted so hard her coffee sloshed. “With what, her emotional repression?”
“Hey, emotional repression can be hot,” Callie said, raising her cup.
Mark ignored them both. “He’s mine. Jackson’s mine. We had a rhythm. We had a system. We had a— a thing! And now what? Meredith Grey hands him a few solo cases this week and suddenly he’s all—” Mark waved dramatically at the glass. “—glowy.”
Arizona slid into the seat next to him. “Mark. Sweetie. He’s just operating.”
“Exactly!” Mark whisper-shouted. “Without me!”
Callie patted his shoulder. “Aww, someone’s jealous.”
“I am NOT jealous.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not!”
Arizona sipped her coffee. “You know what this is? Empty-nest syndrome. It’s like when a bird kicks its baby out of the nest and the baby learns how to fly on its own and the papa bird has a meltdown.”
“I’m not a papa bird!”
Callie leaned forward, smiling wickedly. “A little bit papa bird.”
Mark’s mouth opened, offended — until below, Meredith praised Jackson’s technique and Mark melted. “Look at him,” he whispered. “That’s my boy.”
Arizona sighed, amused. “Yep. Full papa bird.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “I’m getting him back.”
Callie raised a brow. “How?”
“I don’t know. Something big. Something flashy.”
“Or,” Arizona said gently, “you could just… let him learn from more than one person?”
Mark stared at her like she’d spoken another language. “That’s ridiculous.”
Below them, Jackson and Meredith continued the smooth, easy rhythm of two surgeons actually enjoying the work and each other’s company. Arizona nudged Callie. “Should we tell him Jackson asked to be on Meredith’s service this week?”
Callie grinned. “Absolutely not.”
They let Mark keep sulking — content, dramatic, and deeply proud — as his resident shone under someone else’s mentorship for a moment.
Sadie stepped out of the elevator, immediately flagging down a nurse. “I was paged by Dr. Montgomery. You know where she—”
“Dr. Harris. With me.” Addison’s voice sliced through the hallway like a scalpel. She didn’t even slow down as she swept past them, coat flaring, stride efficient and pissed-off.
Sadie blinked, then fell into step behind her. “You paged,” she drawled, bored already.
“Well, you are unfortunately, still on my service,” Addison replied, rubbing her temple like this fact alone caused chronic migraines. “We’ve been asked to consult on a case where a woman has…..a foreign object stuck inside her.”
Sadie’s entire face lit up like Christmas. “Is it—”
“No,” Addison snapped. “Don’t say it. Don’t joke about it. Don’t bring up Meredith and do not—” she held up a finger without looking “—open your mouth unless the patient is actively dying.”
Sadie shut her mouth with a loud click, glaring daggers at her attending’s back. Addison pushed the exam room door open—and actually stumbled. “Oh my—”
Inside, a woman was kneeling on the exam bed, red-faced and mortified. Half beneath her, equally mortified, was a man. Very, very entangled. Sadie’s smirk was instantaneous. “You didn’t mention the foreign object was her husband.”
“Ex-husband,” both patients yelped in unison—then groaned in pain at the movement.
“Fantastic,” Addison muttered to the ceiling, like praying for divine intervention or maybe a sudden blackout. “Just fantastic.” Sadie stood beside her, smirking like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Let’s just…” Addison gestured vaguely at the two humans currently welded together by bad decisions. “Start with an assessment.”
Sadie, in the first competent act Addison had witnessed from her all week, opened the chart and began note-taking. Addison circled the bed, checking angles, gauging tension, keeping her voice painfully neutral.
“Do you think we could make this fast?” the woman asked breathlessly. “My husband doesn’t know we… uh… ran into each other.”
Addison’s eyes flew up—and immediately regretted it. Sadie was staring at her, smug, wicked, delighted. Addison cleared her throat. “Right. Yes. Well. Step one is figuring out what exactly your husband's piercing is caught on.” She leaned in closer to the woman, lowering her voice. “Do you have any...piercings?”
"No!" The woman jerked back, tugging her ex upward resulting in a high-pitched yelp from below. “Sorry!” she gasped. “It’s just—we’ve been divorced forever, but we keep running into each other. Work stuff...And then it just… happens.”
Sadie made a noise—half laugh, half snort—that she tried to hide behind her hand. Addison nearly sprained something in her neck turning to stare her down. “Okay,” Addison said tightly, forcing a sanitised smile. “I’m going to step out and check the scans.” She looked to Sadie, tone turning frostbitten. “Dr. Harris, keep them comfortable.” A beat, and then more quietly, only for the resident's ears. “Try not to traumatise anyone while I’m gone.”
She gave the patients one last sympathetic grimace, then swept out of the room like a woman escaping a burning building.
Addison stood in the hallway, scans held up to the light. She narrowed her eyes, squinting just slightly, tilting the films as if the right angle might magically make the situation less ridiculous. Footsteps approached, soft and familiar. Meredith slowed beside her, arms lightly brushing. “You know,” Meredith murmured, voice low and teasing, “you wouldn’t have to squint if you wore your glasses.”
Addison’s mouth tugged into a smile—small, involuntary, softened at the edges the way it only ever did for Meredith. “Do these look blurry to you?” she asked, still half-distracted
Meredith plucked the films from her hands. “You look really cute when you pretend you can see.” Addison rolled her eyes, but the blush that touched her cheeks gave her away. Meredith held the scans up, examining them with practiced ease. “Okay. What am I looking at?”
“A divorced couple,” Addison said dryly. “Who are currently... stuck together.”
Meredith froze. Her face contorted. “Oh God.” She lowered the scans an inch. “Like… stuck stuck?”
Addison nodded grimly. “Very.”
Meredith visibly shuddered. “That’s—wow. Awkward.”
Addison huffed a breath that was half laugh, half exhaustion. “And Sadie is my resident on the case.”
“Oh.” Meredith turned to her, sympathy flickering across her features.
Addison shrugged, leaning her shoulder lightly into Meredith’s. “I’m dealing.”
Meredith smiled at that—soft, knowing—and for a moment, they simply breathed together in the quiet. The hallway hummed with distant monitor beeps, the soft shuffle of nurses passing, life moving around them while they stood still.
Addison’s eyes settled on Meredith, warm and steady, and Meredith met the look with one just as gentle. No teasing now. Just that quiet thing they did—finding each other in the chaos. A pager went off against Meredith’s hip, sharp and insistent. She sighed. “That’s me.” She passed the scans back. “You might need new images. These are… not super helpful.”
Addison smirked. “Says the woman who teased me for squinting.”
Meredith stepped in close, close enough that Addison’s breathing hitched, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Barely there, but there enough. “I’ll see you later,” Meredith whispered, and then she was gone down the hall, leaving Addison holding the scans, smiling like she’d forgotten she’d ever been annoyed in the first place.
Addison stood in the imaging room, arms crossed, watching Sadie through the window as she directed the awkward couple who were about to be “separated.” Her lips twitched with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
Just then, the door swung open and Cristina strode in, eyes scanning the scene immediately. Jo followed more cautiously, raising a brow. “Heard about this from Meredith,” Cristina said dryly, leaning against the counter. “And, of course, had to come see it for ourselves. Because apparently nothing says ‘fun at work’ like a human Jenga puzzle.”
Addison rolled her eyes but grinned. “Yeah. Welcome. Wilson, go help Sadie before someone gets hurt.”
Jo groaned, adjusting her scrubs. “Oh joy. I get to assist the chaos queen. Perfect.” She disappeared into the imaging room.
Addison turned back to the screen before leaning into the microphone. “Harris, move his leg to the left. Slowly.” Her finger hovered over the computer controls, eyes glued to the piercing/IUD on the monitor as Sadie followed her directions.
Cristina crossed her arms, biting back a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… this is actually fascinating. In a horrifying, end-of-the-world sort of way.”
Addison nodded and gestured wildly through the window, “Wilson! Swirl Mrs. Kellman in a counter-clockwise direction.”
Jo rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. “Swirl?”
“Swirl,” Addison repeated, hands going in a circle. Jo leaned in, adjusting the patient’s position, and Addison squinted at the screen. “Almost there… I can see it moving. Slowly, and very gently—pull them apart.”
The residents followed her instructions, hands trembling just a bit. Suddenly, the man’s vitals spiked—then flatlined. “Oh my God,” Cristina shouted, darting out of the booth and into the room so fast Addison barely had time to breathe. Jo jumped into action, hands pressing on the patient’s chest in steady, practiced rhythm. “We need to get him to the OR—now!” Cristina barked. “Or he’s going to die right here!”
“Move! Let’s go!” Addison yelled, helping lift Jo onto the gurney as it started rolling.
“Someone get me Altman!” Cristina’s voice rang out down the hall. “Now!”
Teddy snapped on her gloves, double-checking the sterile field. “You didn’t need me for this, you know,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an unmistakable pride. “You’ve got this. I trust you to handle it.”
Cristina looked at her through the mask, eyes catching the sincerity in Teddy’s gaze. “I know,” she replied, her tone clipped—but not harsh. “I just… wanted you here.”
Teddy smiled under her mask, letting out a quiet laugh. “Wanted me? Or needed me?”
Cristina’s eyes softened, a hint of a smirk tugging at her brow. “Mostly wanted.”
Teddy chuckled again, shaking her head as she reached for the scalpel. “Cute. Don’t make a habit of it.”
Cristina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth in them. “Maybe I just like having you watching me work,” she said, sliding into position across the table from Teddy.
Teddy’s chest warmed, a soft laugh escaping her mask, “Noted.”
Together, they moved with quiet efficiency, letting the brief, tender bubble of connection linger even amidst the beeping monitors and surgical chaos.
“We’ll let you know the moment we hear anything about your ex-husband,” Addison told her patient. “But, I did have to remove your IUD so you may want to look into other...methods of contraceptives.”
Mrs Kellman sighed, looking every built the guilty party. “I doubt I’ll be having sex anytime soon once I tell my husband.”
Addison looked up, surprised. “You’re going to tell him?”
“Yeah,” her patient nodded. “You know, the first time it happened was an accident and I felt guilty and said it would never happen again.” Her face turned wistful. “But then it happened again, and again, and somewhere along the way, I forgot to feel guilty anymore.” She sighed heavily, “there’s just something about being with someone, with that familiarity and comfort of knowing you so well, after so long. You know?”
The questions was rhetorical but Sadie nodded emphatically, her blue eyes meeting Addison’s in a knowing look. Addison shook her head, refusing to let it bother her. She swallowed down her frustration with the resident, “I’ll check back in with you later,” she said, and quietly left the room. Movement beside her told her Sadie had followed her out. Addison handed off the chart, already done with the weight of the room behind them.
“Still think Meredith won’t come looking for that familiarity? That comfort?” Sadie asked, tilting her head, trying for casual but landing somewhere brittle. Addison stopped. Turned. Not annoyed—just done.
“Still think she’d ever go back to you after everything?” she asked, voice soft but edged.
Sadie shrugged like it didn’t matter. “You never know.”
Addison let out a quiet laugh—barely a breath, but enough to sting. “I do, actually.”
Sadie blinked at the strong certainty in her tone, that hadn't been there before. “How?”
Addison stepped closer—not threatening, just impossibly certain, grounded in a way Sadie couldn’t touch. “Because Meredith doesn’t run backwards. Not for guilt. Not for comfort. Not for nostalgia.” Her eyes stayed locked on Sadie’s, unwavering. “And definitely not for you.”
Sadie’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something—realisation, maybe—breaking through her arrogance. “And here’s the part you still keep missing,” Addison added, stronger still. “She chooses me. Every damn day. Even on the days she doesn’t have to.”
The words landed hard—clean, undeniable. Sadie didn’t have anything to say. For the first time, she didn’t even try to pretend she did. Addison gave a polite, clinical nod—conversation over—and walked away, heels clicking down the hallway, leaving Sadie standing motionless in the stark fluorescent light… finally understanding she had already lost long before this moment.
Meredith slid another chart into the rack at the nurses' station when she notice Sadie coming down the hall. She braced for verbal impact, shoulders tightened, jaw locked. The resident stepped up to the chart racks beside her, flipping a folder closed with a soft thud. For a second, it felt like every interaction they’d had in the last few weeks was about to replay—some sharp comment, some smug remark, something designed to get under Meredith’s skin. Instead, Sadie glanced at her. Just one brief look. Then she nodded—polite, stiff, clipped. “Dr. Grey.”
And walked away.
No smirk.
No jab.
Just… politeness.
Meredith blinked. “What the—”
Cristina appeared at her side like she’d been summoned by the disturbance in the force, eyes narrowing after Sadie’s retreating figure. “What did Addison do to her?” she demanded.
“I—I don’t know,” Meredith admitted, still staring down the hallway. “She just… nodded at me. Like a normal human being.”
Cristina’s eyes widened in genuine alarm. “Oh God. That’s worse.”
“Right?” Meredith whispered, mildly terrified. “She didn’t even do the weird grin.”
“This is bad.” Cristina folded her arms. “Did Addison threaten her? No, wait—did she promise her something? No, that doesn’t make sense. Did she break her? Is Sadie broken?” Cristina leaned in. “Meredith. Did Addison break your ex-something?”
“I don’t know!” Meredith hissed. “She just nodded like she was… respectful? Or resigned? I don’t know! It felt wrong.”
They both stood there, staring down the hall as if Sadie might start levitating or something. Cristina finally muttered, “I’m not saying I’m scared but… I’m scared.”
Meredith nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same.”
A beat.
Cristina slapped Meredith’s arm lightly. “Next time? Warn me before your fiancée decides to unleash whatever that was. I need emotional preparation.”
Meredith sighed, baffled. “I think we all do.”
Minutes later, Meredith and Cristina were still frozen at the nurses’ station, staring down the hallway where Sadie had disappeared like she’d suddenly discovered inner peace or been replaced by an alien impostor. Meredith whispered, “Not that we care…but do you think she’s okay?”
“No,” Cristina said immediately. “Absolutely not. That was… calm. Sadie is not calm. That was the vibe of someone who has seen death and accepted it.”
Meredith rubbed her face. “Oh God.”
Footsteps approached, heels with purpose. Both of them stiffened. Addison rounded the corner, flipping through a chart, totally unbothered, hair perfect, posture elegant, looking like she’d just walked off the cover of Terrifyingly Confident Women Monthly.
She glanced up, smiled at Meredith—soft, warm. “Hey.”
Meredith’s stomach flipped. Cristina’s eye twitched. Addison studied them. “What’s with the faces? You two look like you’re witnessing the end times.”
Cristina pointed at her. “What did you do?”
“What?” Addison blinked, genuinely confused.
“Sadie,” Meredith said, stepping closer. “She just nodded at me. Nodded, and walked away. No hostility. No passive-aggressive comments. No weirdly sexual insults. Nothing.”
Addison shrugged. “Oh. That.” She closed the chart like this was an absolutely normal conversation. “I told her some truths she clearly needed to hear.”
Cristina’s eyebrows lifted. “Truths? Or… the verbal equivalent of ripping her spine out and showing it to her?”
Addison tilted her head. “Why does everyone assume I murder people with words?” Cristina and Meredith stared at her. Addison sighed. “Fine. Maybe I threatened her confidence a little.”
“Addison,” Meredith whispered, half awed, half horrified, “what did you say?”
“Just that she and I are not in the same league,” Addison replied casually. “And that Meredith doesn’t give second chances to people who break her…and that she should stop humiliating herself.”
Cristina let out a low whistle. “Okay, so spine-rip-adjacent.”
“And,” Addison continued thoughtfully, “I may have told her Meredith and I are solid and she will never—ever—be a factor.”
Cristina clapped her hands, impressed. “Yikes. Absolutely brutal. I love it.”
Meredith stared. “You broke Sadie.”
Addison blinked, innocent. “I didn’t break her. I… reset her expectations.”
“That is a terrifying sentence,” Cristina said.
“Thank you,” Addison said brightly.
Meredith shook her head but she couldn’t stop smiling, warmth rising in her cheeks. “I love you, you know.”
Addison’s expression softened instantly. “I love you too.”
Cristina groaned. “Ugh. Okay. Enough. My pancreas is secreting sugar. Please stop.”
Addison smirked. “Then stop listening.”
Meredith patted Cristina’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go before she comes back and we have to pretend this is normal.”
Cristina muttered, “Nothing about today is normal.”
Addison nodded, squeezing Meredith’s hand gently with a soft smile. “Welcome to our life.”
Meredith spotted Callie at the nurse’s station, flipping through a chart and muttering something under her breath about residents and common sense. She waited until Callie finished signing before stepping closer. “Hey,” Meredith said softly.
Callie looked up, eyebrows raised. “Hey. What’s up? You look… purposeful. Should I be concerned?”
Meredith huffed a small laugh. “No. Not this time. I was just wondering—are you busy tonight?”
Callie blinked, surprised. “Uh… nope. No surgeries, not on-call. Why?”
Meredith shifted her file under her arm. “I was thinking maybe you, Arizona, Addison… a girls’ night. Drinks, food, something low-stress. Addison’s been wound tight lately with the Sadie situation, and it’s been a while since she just… hung out. I think she could use it.”
Callie’s face immediately softened into a grin. “Aww, that’s cute. You wanting to lend her out for a few hours. Think you can actually tear yourself away long enough to let her have fun with us?”
Meredith rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile. “Very funny. And yes, I can manage a few hours without her, thank you.”
“Oh, sure,” Callie teased, waving a hand dramatically. “Big sacrifice. A true act of love.”
Meredith shook her head, amused. “Look… she’s been really focused on me these last few months. On us, and I love that, I do… but she’s kind of forgotten to look after herself too. She deserves time with her friends, to unwind.”
Callie’s teasing expression softened into something warm and genuine. “Then a girls’ night is perfect. I’ll grab Arizona, we’ll take her out, make her drink something fruity and embarrassing, and remind her she’s allowed to have fun.”
“Good,” Meredith said, relieved. “But don’t let her get too messy. I’d like to avoid carrying her up the stairs again.”
Callie snorted. “No promises.”
They shared a knowing look—equal parts fondness and mischief—before a pager went off and Callie glanced at it with a groan. “Okay, we’ll text you the plan. Consider it handled.”
Meredith nodded, watching her jog off. “This is going to be messy,” she shook her head fondly, remembering the last time Addison went out drinking with them.
The bar was loud enough to blur the end of a long shift, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses creating the kind of background noise that made it easier to breathe. Addison slipped off her coat just as Callie and Arizona flanked her from either side like overly enthusiastic bodyguards. “Okay, Dr. Montgomery,” Callie said, guiding her to a booth with a hand on her shoulder, “sit. Hydrate. Alcohol is forthcoming.”
“I’m not sure hydration is the priority here,” Arizona added brightly, sliding into the seat across from her. “You look like you’ve had… a day.”
“A week,” Callie corrected.
“A month,” Arizona countered.
Addison lifted a brow. “Are you two done diagnosing me?”
“No,” they said at the same time.
Arizona leaned forward, elbows on the table, grin wide and sweet and concerned all at once. “We haven’t had actual friend time with you since—what, before you found yourself in a love triangle with one woman and one ghost of a relationship past?”
“Arizona,” Callie hissed, “subtlety.”
“What? Sadie has ghost energy.”
Addison snorted into her water. “She does, actually.”
Callie beamed. “See? She’s laughing. Mission already successful.” A server came by, and Callie took over ordering because of course she did. “Three margaritas. Heavy on the tequila. And… do you still have those pretzel bites?”
Arizona perked up. “Oh! And the fries with the special sauce. Addison, you’re eating carbs. No arguments.”
Addison raised her hands. “I wasn’t going to argue.”
“You always argue,” Callie said. “It’s part of your charm.”
“Part?” Arizona blinked innocently. “I thought it was her whole charm.”
Addison leaned back in the booth, letting the ridiculousness sink in. It felt… nice. Easy. Like she didn’t have to think about residents or rivals or complicated ex-girlfriends. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Why did you really drag me here?”
Callie and Arizona exchanged a look—one of those wordless communiques that should have been illegal. Finally, Callie spoke. “Because Meredith loves you.”
Arizona nodded. “And because you’ve had Sadie breathing down your neck all week like a raccoon who learned how to stethoscope.”
Addison laughed so suddenly she startled herself. “Oh my god.”
“And,” Callie added, pointing a fry at her for emphasis as the food arrived, “because you deserve a night where your biggest responsibility is not letting Arizona steal all the salt.”
Arizona gasped in betrayal. “I share the salt.”
“No, honey,” Callie patted her leg, “you hoard the salt.”
Addison watched them bicker, warmth blooming in her chest. She lifted her margarita as soon as it hit the table. “To friends,” she said.
Callie and Arizona both lit up, clinking their glasses against hers. “To friends,” they echoed.
“And,” Arizona added smugly, “to the fact that Meredith Grey would absolutely choose you in a fight.”
Callie blinked. “Why is that the toast?”
“Because!” Arizona said. “It’s true!”
Addison shook her head, smiling despite herself, and took a long sip of her drink.
Meredith curled deeper into the corner of the couch, a half-finished slice of pizza balanced on the box beside her, her phone glowing in her hand. Another notification popped up.
Addison: ARIZONA JUST TRIED TO STEAL MY SALT LIKE A TINY BLONDE BANDIT
Addison: callie says hi and arizona says she loves you
Addison: also i want to lick your face like i licked this margarita glass
Meredith bit her lip, Addison was an idiot when she got drunk.
The front door opened, then clicked shut. Heavy footsteps, familiar ones, crossed the living room. Alex didn’t say anything—he just dropped onto the couch beside her with all the subtlety of a boulder, grabbed her slice of pizza, and took a massive bite.
Meredith stared at him. He stared at the TV that wasn’t even on. She waited. He chewed. Finally, he muttered, “Jo wants to buy a place.”
Meredith blinked slowly. “…Okay.”
Alex reached for another slice. “And she wants me to move in. With her.” The tone was casual, but his jaw was tight. Meredith nodded once, not surprised. Alex’s eyes flicked to her. “What, you knew already?”
"She told me." She shrugged. “Plus, Alex..you’ve been googling washing machines for two weeks.”
His ears went red. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“You asked me if stainless steel was a personality trait.”
He glared at her. She raised one eyebrow. “…Okay, fine,” he grumbled, slumping back. “So you knew.”
“I did.” Meredith turned her phone face down, giving him the full weight of her attention. “And I think it’s good.”
Alex scoffed. “Yeah, well, whatever.”
She nudged his knee with hers. “Alex.”
“What?”
“I’m proud of you.” His whole body went still, like she’d short-circuited him. Meredith continued softly, “You’re good for her. And she’s good for you. And this life you’re building? You earned it.”
Alex stared stubbornly at the dark TV screen. “Can you… not be weird about it?”
“Too late,” she said lightly.
He huffed, grabbing another slice as a distraction. “You’re so annoying.”
“Uh-huh.” She picked up her phone again, glancing at a new text from Addison:
Addison: I hope you’re ready… because when I get home, I’m not leaving you alone until you beg me to.
Meredith snorted.
Alex squinted. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it Montgomery?” Silence. Alex rolled his eyes hard enough to strain something. “Gross.”
Meredith shoved his shoulder. “Eat your stolen pizza and shut up.”
He smirked, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, yeah.” They drifted into comfortable conversation about nothing—surgery, drama, terrible interns—as Meredith kept sneaking glances at her phone, and Alex pretended not to notice.
Meredith was brushing her teeth when she heard the soft thump of someone stumbling into the bedroom. She turned just in time to see Addison, hair a little wild, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with mischief—and more than a little drink. “Meredith,” Addison slurred, voice low and sultry, “tonight… tonight, you are all mine.” She flopped onto the bed dramatically, legs splayed in a way that was definitely meant to be enticing.
Meredith paused, toothpaste foam at the corner of her mouth, one eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh. All yours, huh?”
“Yes!” Addison waved her hand vaguely, grinning, gesturing for Meredith to join her on the bed.
Meredith smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Let’s… slow down a second. I might be all yours, but you’re also completely wasted.”
Addison pouted, attempting to sit up and wobbling back onto the bed. “That’s… fine. I still want you."
Meredith laughed softly, climbing onto the bed. “Okay, okay, let’s get you… comfortable first.” She gently helped Addison slide her jeans down, tugged her shirt over her head and replaced it with a sleeping shirt. She could feel Addison leaning against her, her eyelids were drooping, a sleepy smile on her lips.
“Figures,” Meredith chuckled softly, brushing a loose curl from Addison’s flushed cheek. “All talk, no follow-through.”
Addison yawned, already curling into the pillow, her flirty energy dissolving into sleepy murmurs. “Mmm… sleep… mine…” slurring into a soft sigh as she snuggled further into the bed. Meredith smirked, pulling the covers around her and tucking Addison in. She pressed a gentle kiss to Addison’s temple, brushing a stray curl from her face.
“You’re ridiculous,” Meredith whispered, crawling in beside her. She wrapped an arm around Addison, letting her warmth seep in, the mischievous fire of earlier replaced by soft, sleepy trust. “Tonight, I guess I'm all yours… in your dreams.”
And just like that, Addison was gone, breathing softly against her chest, and Meredith let herself smile, letting the quiet of the night—and the warmth of Addison—fill her completely.
Chapter Text
Meredith walked out of the bathroom, peeking over at Addison, tangled in the sheets like a burrito, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes. “Come on, Addie,” she said, voice low and teasing, sitting beside her on the bed. “You have work. You need to wake up.” She nudged Addison’s shoulder.
“Mmm…” Addison groaned, rolling over and burying her face deeper in the pillow. “Five more minutes… please…”
Meredith sighed, draping an arm over her waist. “Five more minutes is not an option. You promised you’d get up when I was showering.”
“I promised?” Addison mumbled, head foggy and slow. “Meredith… I think my brain is trying to leave my body.”
“That’s called a hangover,” Meredith said, smirking. She leaned down to press a quick kiss to the back of Addison’s shoulder, earning a soft, pitiful groan.
“Meredith…” Addison whined, rolling toward her and pulling the blankets over her head. “Why… why is life so cruel?”
“Because someone decided to drink one too many last night,” Meredith countered, tugging the blanket off. Addison squirmed in protest. “You’re getting up. I’ll make coffee, breakfast, and maybe even let you nap in the car if you behave.”
Addison peeked one eye open, grumpy and adorably defiant. “You’re… manipulative,” she muttered.
“And you’re stubborn,” Meredith replied, tracing a finger along her jawline.
With an exaggerated sigh, Addison sat up slowly, rubbing her temples. “Fine… but you owe me like, three coffees and a lifetime supply of ibuprofen.”
Meredith laughed, helping her steady herself. “Deal. Now, get in the shower.”
Addison leaned into her, still wobbly. “I hate mornings…” she muttered.
Addison groaned as she perched on the lounge couch, tugging at her scrubs with the precision of someone still half-asleep. Meredith was fiddling with her lab coat, hair slightly mussed from the early morning rush out of the house. “I swear, if coffee isn’t inside me within the next five minutes, I might actually die,” Addison muttered, sliding down into the cushion.
Meredith smirked. “You sound like every person who’s ever had more than one margarita on a school night.”
Before Addison could fire back, the lounge door swung open. Cristina and Teddy appeared, the former striding in and a mischievous grin forming on her face at the sight of Addison. “Well, well,” Cristina drawled, hands on her hips as she surveyed Addison, “if it isn’t the hungover goddess herself. How do you survive looking that tragic and still… somehow hot?”
Addison glared, “Tragic is one word for it.”
Teddy chuckled softly, leaning against the counter. “I think she just needs someone to fetch her coffee and maybe, like, a bag for her head.”
“Very funny,” Addison shot back, rolling her eyes. “Some of us can be professional, you know. Even before caffeine.”
Cristina smirked, sidling closer. “Professional, sure. But the way you’re flopping around Montgomery, it looks like a drunk sloth auditioning for a medical drama.”
Meredith hid a laugh behind her hand, clearly trying to be sympathetic. “I mean… she did drink enough to flirt with death last night,” she said gently, glancing at Addison.
Addison groaned, resting her forehead in her hand. “You are ridiculous.”
Meredith leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from Addison’s face. “We're only saying it because we care.”
Cristina smirked, crouching slightly so she could look Addison in the eye. “Yeah, well, caring in the most sarcastic, humiliatingly honest way possible.”
Addison blinked at them, half exasperated, half amused. “I hate you.”
“You’ll thank us later,” Teddy said, squeezing Addison’s shoulder. “For now, just survive the morning. Coffee and sarcasm—your two best friends in the hospital.”
Addison shook her head, smirking despite herself. “I hate you guys so much,” she muttered.
Meredith just laughed, leaning her head against Addison’s shoulder. “We know. That’s why we keep them around.”
Meredith flipped through her chart as she and Jackson wrapped up the last of their rounds. He was awake, alert, even helpful—clearly riding the caffeine he’d been clinging to all morning. “Nice save on that hernia consult,” she said as they stepped into the bright hallway. “Almost sounded like you knew what you were talking about.”
Jackson smirked. “I did know.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Before Jackson could argue, Mark Sloan appeared from around the corner like he had been summoned, arms out wide, grin wide enough to be illegal. “There you are,” Mark said, pointing directly at Avery. “Grey, I’m here for my prodigal son.”
Meredith blinked. “Your what?”
“My… Avery.” Mark gestured dramatically. “I need him. Plastics needs him. The world needs him. Hand him over.”
Jackson groaned softly. “Oh God.”
Meredith crossed her arms. “Is this how we’re doing things now? Surgeons just wander around and claim residents like Pokémon?”
“Yes,” Mark said without shame. “I choose you, Avery.” Jackson looked mortified.
Meredith hid a smile. “Do I get anything in return for this highly valuable trade?”
Mark snapped his fingers. “Absolutely. A fair exchange.” He reached behind him and practically shoved April Kepner forward like he’d been hiding her.
“Here. Take Kepner.”
April appeared, a little embarrassed “Dr. Grey!”
Meredith bit back a laugh. “Wow. Such generosity.”
Mark leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll throw in a coffee voucher.”
“No.”
“A free consult anytime before noon?”
"Still no."
Mark sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you’re still getting Kepner.”
Meredith shrugged. “Great. I like Kepner.”
April froze. “…You do?”
“Yes,” Meredith said cheerfully. “You listen. You work hard. You don’t make out with my sister in supply closets.”
Jackson choked. Mark clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. “How dare you,” he gasped. “Those closets are very multipurpose.”
Meredith waved him off. “Take Avery and go before I change my mind.”
Mark brightened instantly, grabbing Jackson by the shoulder. “Come along, Plastics Prince. Destiny awaits.” Jackson mouthed a silent sorry at Meredith as Mark hauled him away.
Meredith watched them go, shaking her head. “Children,” she muttered, flipping her chart open again.
April stepped up beside her, ready and eager. “So, Dr. Grey… what’s next?”
Meredith sighed with exaggerated resignation. “Someone who actually wants to be here. That’s refreshing. Come on, Kepner." She walked off—with April trailing behind like the world’s most enthusiastic duckling.
Addison’s head was pounding, but she stormed up to a cluster of residents anyway, scanning for someone competent enough to assist on her case. “I need a resident,” she barked, voice sharp enough to make a few heads snap around.
“I’m with Torres” one mumbled.
“Yang,” another muttered, fleeing before she could respond.
Her eyes landed on Sadie, and she hesitated. Could she trust her today? The need for an assist won out. “Harris,” she said firmly.
“Sorry,” Sadie smirked, “I think I’m done with vaginas. As a doctor, anyway.”
Addison’s eyes flared. “Oh, backtalk. Lovely. You know what?” She smacked the chart into Sadie’s hands with a flourish. “Congratulations. You’re definitely on this case.”
“Good morning, Rose,” Addison said, stepping around the children sprawled across the maternity room floor. “How’re you feeling today?”
The woman smiled wryly. “Large.” She glanced at her husband. “Think I could have a quick word with the doctor, honey?”
“Sure,” he said, gathering the kids and closing the door behind him.
Addison leaned in, voice softening. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired,” Rose admitted, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “So tired.”
“38 weeks pregnant with six kids? Being tired is expected.” Addison cast a glance at Sadie, who was flipping through the chart, half-listening. “Labs, Dr. Harris?”
Sadie huffed. “They look fine, Dr. Montgomery.” Addison turned back to her patient, watching as she wiped her cheeks.
“Dr. Montgomery, I need this baby to be my final one,” Rose said, drawing in a shaky breath. “I seem to be the most fertile woman on earth.”
Addison nodded. “Well, there are plenty of forms of birth control, and I can—”
“No,” Rose interrupted, her voice firmer now. Sadie finally looked up from the chart, curiosity piqued. “No. I need you… please, Dr. Montgomery, to tie my tubes during the surgery today.” She hesitated. “And I need you to do it without my husband finding out.”
Addison inhaled sharply, noticing Sadie almost drop the chart in her periphery. She lowered herself into the vacant chair beside her patient, leaning in, eyes locked. “Okay, Rose… tell me what's wrong.”
Addison stepped out of Rose’s room with brisk, clipped movements, Sadie trailing behind her like a shadow that wasn’t sure whether to follow or bolt. At the nurses’ station, Addison slapped the chart down, then slowly — very slowly — she turned her head toward Sadie with an expression that could have incinerated bone. “Dr. Harris,” Addison said, voice ice-cold, “you don’t get to mock a patient’s circumstances because you don’t relate to them.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t mocking—”
“Yes, you were,” Addison cut in sharply. “You judged her. You implied she was weak and you made her feel guilty for wanting control of her own body in the only way she believes she safely can.” She stepped closer. “You don’t know her life. You don’t know her marriage. You don’t know the culture she lives in.”
Sadie’s jaw tightened. “I was just trying to get clarity.”
“No,” Addison said, tone rising a notch, “you were trying to be clever and you made a vulnerable woman feel small in the process.” She signed the chart with a sharp scribble, “You will not do that again. Not in my exam rooms. Not on my cases.” She snapped the chart shut with a loud snap. “It's my job is to determine what’s going on and what the best course of action is. Your job—since you seem to have forgotten—is to listen and to learn. Not make wild assumptions.” Addison handed the chart off to the desk nurse briskly, “You’re not supposed to know what to think yet, you’re supposed to watch the people who do..”
Sadie’s expression went lethal, eyes narrowing, shoulders squaring like she was ready for a fight. Addison barely glanced at her. She was too tired, too irritated, too done. “Go be somewhere else,” she said dismissively, “Anywhere else.”
Sadie opened her mouth, closed it, then walked off stiffly, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Addison exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Dr. Montgomery,” Bailey’s voice came from her right—quiet, but firm. She’d been standing there long enough to witness all of it. “A word.”
Addison straightened immediately. “Dr. Bailey.”
Bailey stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Addison could hear. “You okay?”
Addison swallowed, eyes flicking away. “Fine. Just… a long morning.”
Bailey nodded once. “I figured, and I’m not saying Harris was right—but if you keep snapping like that, someone’s gonna snap back, and I’d bet money it won’t be pretty.” She softened, just a fraction. “Watch yourself. Stay professional.”
Addison let out a slow breath. “I know. You’re right.”
Bailey raised a brow. “I’m always right.”
A tiny huff of a laugh escaped Addison despite her mood. Bailey patted her shoulder once—quick, efficient, grounding. “Go take a breath. Then go deliver a baby.” With that, Bailey walked off, leaving Addison standing at the station rubbing her tired eyes in frustration.
Meredith was curled up on the lounge couch, legs tucked beneath her, charts spread across the cushions in a kind of organised chaos. She looked up as the door swung open and Addison strode in like a storm cloud with legs. “You look like you’re about to set the hospital on fire,” Meredith said.
“I might,” Addison snapped, tossing her folder onto the nearest table with enough force to make it skid. “My resident is a menace.”
“Sadie?” Meredith blinked.
“No, the other one,” Addison deadpanned. Then, flatly: “Yes, Sadie. She practically tried to guilt-trip my patient out of getting her tubes tied. Like the concept of bodily autonomy was personally offensive to her. Zero tact. Zero professionalism. Zero empathy.”
Meredith winced. “Yeah… that tracks. Not great.”
“Not great?” Addison scoffed. “It was invasive and humiliating for my patient. She didn’t even try to understand her situation, she just passed a judgment.”
“She’s not exactly known for empathy,” Meredith said gently, eyes flicking down to her chart for a moment. “Sadie’s always been like that— snark first, compassion nowhere. It’s not new.”
Silence. Heavy.
Meredith felt it before she looked up — that subtle shift in the air. When she raised her eyes, Addison was already staring at her, shoulders tense, breath sharp, pupils tight like they’d just locked onto something that hurt.
“Are you really excusing her behaviour?” Addison asked, voice dangerously calm.
Meredith frowned. “No. I was saying I’m not surprised she said something awful.”
“So I should’ve expected it?” Addison’s tone sharpened. “I shouldn’t be upset because it’s ‘just Sadie being Sadie’?”
“What? No. I’m saying that’s Sadie, she—”
“Oh, fantastic,” Addison snapped, hands flying up. “Because clearly what I needed today was you implying I’m making too big a deal out of a resident shaming my patient.”
“That’s not what I said—”
“You’re acting like it’s whatever. Like it doesn’t actually matter.”
“Addison—”
“No, please,” Addison bit out, sarcasm slicing clean. “Explain how Sadie’s judgemental commentary is simply typical resident behaviour and totally not something I should be furious about.”
Meredith set her chart aside, sitting upright. “Addison, I’m not saying you don’t get to be upset. You do. Of course you do. I’m saying Sadie’s a resident — residents say stupid things sometimes—”
“Stupid,” Addison echoed, a low humourless laugh. “Right. Sure. Perfect. Great talk.”
“Addison, come on—”
But Addison was already snatching up her folder, movement clipped, jaw tight. “You know what? I actually have work to do,” she said, already halfway to the door.
“Addison—”
She didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back. Just walked out of the room, the door closing hard behind her. Meredith stared after the empty space she left behind, confused and a little bruised by the emotional whiplash. “…Cool,” she muttered, sinking back into the couch. “Love that for us.”
Addison stormed down the hallway, pace clipped and surgical, jaw locked so tight she could feel it in her temples. Her frustration was still buzzing under her skin — hot, restless, unresolved. She nearly bulldozed straight into Mark as she rounded a corner. “Hey—” he caught her shoulder before she could blow past him. “Where are you going like that?”
“Anywhere that isn’t here.” Addison pulled her arm back, breath sharp. “I need a minute before I throw someone out a window.”
Mark studied her — really studied her — eyes narrowing just slightly. “What happened?”
“Sadie,” Addison snapped. “She spoke to my patient like— like the woman owed her guilt for wanting to take control of her own body. No empathy. No context. Just judgement.” She ran a hand through her hair, visibly shaking from the leftover adrenaline. “I’ve had residents make mistakes before, but that? That wasn’t a mistake. That was just her being her.”
Mark nodded once. “Okay. That’s frustrating as hell.”
“She pushed and pushed,” Addison continued. “And then I walk into the lounge, just needing someone who isn’t a complete disaster, and Meredith—” Addison cut herself off, jaw tightening again.
Mark’s voice gentled. “What did she say?”
“She said she wasn’t surprised.” Addison’s tone was clipped, wounded under the anger. “That Sadie’s always been like that.”
Mark blinked. “That’s… probably true.”
“It felt like she was excusing it,” Addison said quickly, defensive before she could stop it. “Like I’m overreacting, or dramatic, or expecting too much from a resident.”
Mark shook his head. “Addie, Meredith would never defend Sadie. Not to you. Not to anyone.” Addison exhaled hard but didn’t answer. Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What did Meredith actually do?”
“She just—” Addison swallowed. The anger was thinning, leaving behind the actual problem. “She said Sadie has no understanding, no empathy. That she always jumps to judgement, that she wasn’t surprised.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “That kinda sounds like she was agreeing with you.”
“But it felt—” Addison paused, annoyed at herself for how small the next words came out. “It felt dismissive.”
Mark’s expression softened, not pitying — knowing. “Addison. How much sleep did you get last night?” She didn’t answer. “How long have you had that headache?” he added. Again, silence — just her tired eyes flicking away. “And how many days has Sadie been riding your last nerve?”
Addison let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. “Too many.”
Mark nodded like he’d solved the equation. “You’re not wrong about Sadie. But you’re tired and she pushed exactly the button that pisses you off the most. Meredith didn’t do anything except… not phrase herself perfectly.”
Addison dragged a hand down her face. “I know. I know. I just— exploded…at the wrong person.”
“Yeah,” Mark said gently. “But you’ll fix it.”
Addison didn’t answer right away, but the tension in her shoulders finally loosened. “…I didn’t mean to take it out on her,” she admitted, voice low.
“I know.” Mark squeezed her arm once. “And so does she.”
Addison nodded, exhaling shakily. “I should talk to her.”
Mark stepped back, letting her go this time. “There’s the plan.”
Addison took one more steadying breath, then turned back down the hall — calmer, quieter, still tired but finally aware of it.
Addison pushed the lounge door open with her shoulder, not storming this time — more deflated than anything. Her headache throbbed behind her eyes, and the snap of guilt twisting in her stomach was starting to outweigh the irritation. She just wanted to find Meredith, apologise, maybe lean on her for thirty quiet seconds.
But the room was empty. Addison let out a low sigh. “Of course.”
She scanned the space, half expecting Meredith to be curled up in a corner of the couch, no such luck. But there, on the couch, was her lab coat — the one Meredith had been wearing earlier, forgotten or abandoned when she’d left.
Addison walked over slowly, the weight of the day settling in her chest. She picked up the coat, brushing a thumb over the embroidered name. It was warm, faintly smelling like Meredith — coffee, soap, and that soft perfume she always wore. A tiny smile tugged at Addison’s mouth, almost involuntary. “God, I was an ass,” she murmured to the empty room.
She wasn’t afraid Meredith was angry — they’d weathered far worse than one bad conversation. But Addison hated snapping at her. Hated the look Meredith had given her, all surprised and confused and trying not to make it worse.
She folded the coat neatly back onto the lounge. She just wanted to find Meredith, kiss her, apologise, and maybe get a minute of her warmth before diving back into the day. Addison headed for the door, she’d track Meredith down soon and she’d fix this.
Apologising wasn’t hard — but being at odds with Meredith longer than necessary definitely was.
The OR hummed with the usual soundtrack of beeping monitors and clinking instruments. April’s focus was razor-sharp as she worked, her hands steady under Meredith’s guidance. “Alright,” Meredith said, pointing with her gloved finger, “tiny incision here. Think delicate. Think… softer than Karev’s people skills.”
April nodded, laser-focused. Bailey angled a light over the field. “Speaking of people skills,” she said casually, “Addison was in a mood earlier.”
Meredith snorted without looking up. “I know, I had the front-row seat to that storm this morning. Her glare could've carved a trench”
Bailey blinked, “Should I… be worried?”
“Nope,” Meredith sighed. “Just a normal shift in this hospital. Some days it's like emotional dodgeball.”
Bailey chuckled. “Someone should give that woman a coffee.’”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Not sure Addison needed more coffee. She was having ‘passive-aggressive energy’ straight from the source.”
Bailey chuckled under her breath. “You want me to page psych for her or for you?”
“For me,” Meredith deadpanned. “Preferably with snacks.”
Bailey shook her head, amused. “Lord, Grey. You can make anything sound like a crisis.”
Meredith shook her head, amused. “It’s fine. Just doing what I do best.”
“Which is?”
“Surviving this hospital with sarcasm and questionable life choices.”
Bailey let out a bark of laughter. “Well, keep it up. It’s entertaining.”
Meredith smirked. “Glad I could brighten your day.”
Bailey gave her a nudge “You do. Just—don’t implode on me. I’m far too busy to deal with everyone's dramatic moments.”
Meredith grinned. “Don’t worry. If I implode, I’ll schedule it. I know how you feel about walk-ins.”
Bailey pointed at her. “Exactly. Respect the system.”
Meredith nodded solemnly. “Noted.”
Bailey shook her head, laughing again “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Meredith said lightly, “you keep hanging around.”
Bailey sighed dramatically. “Clearly, I’ve made mistakes.”
Meredith smirked behind her mask. “Huge ones.”
Bailey jabbed a finger at her. “Keep talking, Grey. See what happens.”
“Nothing,” Meredith said, guiding April’s next movement with a calm gesture. “Because you love me.”
Bailey muttered, “Unfortunately.”
Meredith grinned. “Tragic.”
Addison watched Sadie navigate the ultrasound, only needing to correct her a few times. She glanced at her patient. “Rose, seven kids is a lot. Are you sure Chris feels the same way?”
Rose sighed and sank back into the bed. “The last time I was on the pill, he stopped taking communion. When he does that, he believes—”
“That you’re going to hell?” Sadie cut in, and Addison shot her a sharp, disapproving look.
Rose shook her head. “The reason we haven’t had a baby in four years… is because we abstained for three. Do you even know what it’s like, not being able to make love to your partner for that long?”
“But the pill—” Addison began.
“No,” Rose interrupted, her voice firm. “He’d find out.”
“So what?” Sadie snorted. “He can’t divorce you. He doesn’t believe in it.”
“Okay, Dr. Harris,” Addison snapped, her patience gone. “You can leave.” As the resident slunk out, Addison turned back to Rose, ready to apologise.
“The way she looked at me,” Rose said quietly, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “I can’t have my husband look at me like that… but I can’t… can’t—” She faltered, pressing a hand to her stomach. “—have any more babies either.”
Addison felt a weight settle in her chest. Her head throbbed, but she understood her patients concerns. Sighing, she took a seat beside her. "Okay.." she said after a moment, "okay..."
Meredith rounded the corner toward the nurses’ station, half-reading a lab result — and froze when she heard Sadie’s voice, loud enough to carry down the hall. “…I mean, if she wants to lie to her husband about getting her tubes tied, that’s her circus, but don’t make me part of it,” Sadie was saying to another resident. “And Dr. Montgomery just nods along like it’s totally normal. Whatever the patient wants, right? Even if it’s delusional.”
The other resident shifted uncomfortably upon noticing Meredith’s approach. “Sadie—”
“No, seriously,” Sadie went on. “Who gets a sterilisation and then lies to their husband like it’s a manicure? It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s enough,” Meredith said, her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut cleanly through the hallway. Sadie turned, surprise flashing across her face before embarrassment hardened into defiance. Meredith placed her files on the desk. “You don’t get to talk about your attending like that. Not in this hospital, not ever.” Her voice dropped, tone sharp. “You also don’t get to gossip about a patient’s circumstances. You definitely don’t get to mock a woman who’s trying to make a decision about her own body.”
“She’s lying to her husband,” Sadie snapped.
“And?” Meredith countered instantly. “You don’t know their dynamic. You don’t know what her faith or her marriage demands of her. You don’t know what pressure she’s under. What we do know is that she asked us for care — not commentary.”
The other resident instinctively stepped back, like she expected shrapnel. Sadie folded her arms. “Your girlfriend was practically encouraging her.”
“I doubt that” Meredith’s jaw tightened. “Addison gave her options. Agency. Respect, and she managed it without belittling her — something you might consider trying.”
Sadie’s nostrils flared. “Of course you’d take her side.”
“I’m taking the side of basic human empathy,” Meredith shot back. Then, quieter but unequivocal: “And yes, I will always be on her side. Especially when she’s right.”
That one landed. Sadie went still. Meredith’s voice lowered, steady and cutting. “If you want to be a surgeon, start by being a human being. Show compassion to your patient — and maybe to the attending who’s trying to teach you.” Her gaze swept both residents. “Talking trash in the hallway doesn’t make you look strong. It makes you look careless. Your patients deserve better.”
The silence was razor-sharp. For a moment, no one breathed. Sadie blinked once, slow and dangerous. “Noted,” she said finally — but her tone was pure gasoline. Meredith could tell she’d only poured more fuel on the fire but she held her gaze, unflinching. Sadie broke first, turning and stalking off with tight shoulders. The other resident slipped away like smoke with a whispered “Sorry Dr. Grey.”
Meredith exhaled, pinched the bridge of her nose, “Great,” she muttered. “Because that needed to get worse.” She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the tension bleed out of her shoulders. She’d done what she could. Whether Sadie would listen was another story entirely.
As she went back to her charts, she felt the quiet shift, the warmth behind her. That presence her body recognised before her eyes did. Addison stepped up beside her, leaning a hand on the counter, their arms almost brushing. “How much did you hear?” Meredith asked softly, without looking up.
“Enough,” Addison murmured.
Meredith finally met her gaze — and saw something she didn’t expect. Not anger. Not tension. Something soft and guilty. There was a beat, a delicate one. “Okay,” Meredith said cautiously, “do you want to yell at me again, or…?”
Addison let out a breathy laugh — the kind she used when she was trying not to get emotional. She shook her head, “No. I want to apologise.”
Meredith blinked, surprised.
Addison swallowed. “I snapped at you earlier. I’m tired, my head’s killing me, and Sadie has been… Sadie.” Her face creased. “But none of that excuses how I spoke to you.”
Meredith stepped closer. “I know, and I’m not upset with you.”
“I heard what you said to her,” Addison said quietly. “About being on my side.” Her voice wavered, just barely. “Even after I’d been—”
“A bit of a hurricane?” Meredith teased softly.
Addison huffed a small, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. That.”
Meredith’s expression warmed. “You’re allowed to have bad hours, Addison. Bad days. I’m still here.”
Addison’s breath hitched — relief mingled with something tender. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she admitted. “Especially not because of a resident who couldn’t empathise her way out of a paper bag.”
Meredith snorted. “Preaching to the choir.”
Addison reached out hesitantly, fingertips brushing Meredith’s forearm — small, seeking, like she wasn’t sure she deserved to touch her yet. Meredith stepped into her space, their shoulders touching. “We’re okay.”
Everything in Addison’s posture softened at once — like Meredith had untied a knot she’d been too wound up to name. “Can we… go somewhere for a minute?” Addison asked quietly. “Just to breathe? Before I rip into the next living organism I see?”
Meredith huffed a tiny laugh. “So I’m your emotional support human.”
Addison’s lips twitched. “More like my emotional grounding point.”
“That’s… surprisingly sweet.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Meredith slipped her hand into Addison’s. “Come on. Let’s get coffee before you snap at someone else less forgiving.”
Addison let out a breath — this time, almost a laugh — and squeezed her fingers “Only you,” she said quietly, “could make today feel salvageable.”
Meredith bumped her shoulder against Addison’s. “That’s what fiancées are for.”
Addison nodded, eyes warm. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Addison tracked the nurse out of the OR only for a heartbeat, just long enough to confirm the baby was stable, before snapping her focus back down to the open uterus in front of her. Her hands worked on their own—decades of muscle memory pulling a suture taut, needle driver passing smoothly between her fingers.
“I’ve got a bleeder,” Sadie said, voice clipped, a touch too sharp for a room this fragile.
“Then cauterise it,” Addison replied without looking up. A command, not a suggestion. The hiss of the Bovie followed, the bleeding tucked neatly under control. Addison nodded once. “Good.” Silence settled. Controlled. Professional. Until it wasn’t.
“Bovie,” Addison said, palm already outstretched. “There’s bleeding near the tube.” She didn’t need to look to feel the hesitation. It slid across the table like oil.
Sadie’s eyes snapped to Addison, then back to the field. “I don’t see any active bleeding, Dr. Montgomery.”
Addison’s head lifted—slowly. Deliberately. Her gaze locked onto Sadie’s with an icy precision that stalled the entire room. “Are you the attending surgeon here?”
A beat. A breath.
“No.”
“Then give it to me, Dr. Harris.”
There was no raised voice. She didn’t need one. Authority radiated off her like heat from a furnace. The Bovie slapped into Addison’s palm—too hard, too full of attitude. Addison didn’t flinch. She didn’t break eye contact until she dipped back into the incision, found the 'bleeding' in less than a second, and sealed it with deadly accuracy.
“There,” she said, voice low, steady, absolute. “Now we can close.”
But as she resumed suturing, she could feel Sadie’s disapproval pounding against her like a physical force—thick, bitter, suffocating. Addison didn’t look up again. Didn’t acknowledge it. But every stitch she placed was sharp enough to cut through the tension hanging in the air.
The maternity ward was unusually calm when Meredith stepped off the elevator. Soft beeping, hushed voices, and the faint scent of baby powder created a kind of warmth she rarely lingered in. She was halfway down the corridor when she spotted a familiar figure standing by one of the observation windows.
Addison.
Shoulders loose but posture heavy, hands tucked into her coat pockets, gaze fixed through the glass. Meredith slowed, then drifted toward her until she was close enough to see what Addison was watching. Inside the room, the new parents were seated on the bed, both leaning over the tiny bundle in the mothers arms. She looked exhausted, overwhelmed, utterly undone. The father was weeping softly—happy tears, grateful tears—and the baby made a scrunched little face that tugged something deep in Meredith’s chest.
Without speaking, Meredith stepped up beside Addison.
For a moment, she simply watched too. Then she let her hand slide down between them, brushing Addison’s knuckles. Addison didn’t look away from the family, but she turned her hand over, letting Meredith’s fingers lace with hers. Their palms pressed together in a slow, steadying exhale neither of them voiced. Meredith’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He’s a cutie.”
Addison hummed softly, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. “He didn’t know,” she said after a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly on the father. “That this would be their last. He had no idea.”
Meredith squeezed her hand. “Most people don’t get to know that,” she murmured. “Life doesn’t always give you warnings.”
Addison’s jaw shifted, emotion flickering across her profile. “No,” she agreed quietly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”
Meredith let her thumb brush gently along the inside of Addison’s hand. Neither said it aloud, but both felt it—the flicker of imagining themselves on the other side of that glass someday. Eventually, Addison exhaled, a long, soft release. “I, um… need to finish a couple of notes.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Meredith said.
Still hand in hand, they stepped away from the window, moving down the hallway together. Just quiet contentment as they made their way toward Addison’s office.
A knock at the office door pulled Addison from the chart she’d been reviewing. Meredith, sprawled comfortably on the couch with a book, lifted her eyes too. “Come in,” Addison called. The door swung open, and Richard stepped inside. Addison’s brows lifted. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I got your report on Dr. Harris.” Richard began, then hesitated the moment he noticed Meredith in the room. His eyes flicked back to Addison, who simply gestured—go on. Anything he said, she’d share with Meredith anyway.
Richard cleared his throat. “I’ve also just come from legal. The husband of your patient… is discussing potential action regarding the c-section you performed this afternoon.” The words hung in the air like smoke.
“Excuse me?” Addison blinked, incredulous.
“What does that have to do with Sadie?” Meredith asked, sitting up a little straighter.
Richard exhaled. “It appears Dr. Harris implied to Mr. Ward that there was… something questionable about the procedure. That perhaps you’d botched it. Or concealed something.” He winced. “That you made a mistake .”
Both Addison and Meredith’s jaws dropped at the same time.
“I looked at the chart—” Richard started.
“Then you saw the consent form.” Addison’s voice shook with the fury she was holding by a thread. “Her written, explicit consent. I followed my patient’s wishes and I respected her autonomy to decide what her husband knew, or what he didn't.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Addison snapped, standing abruptly, closing the folders on her desk with a sharp, final thud. “The only violation that happened today was of her privacy, which I assume has now become obvious.”
Richard shifted uncomfortably. Meredith’s gaze flicked between them, tension thickening by the second.
“You’re right, Addison, but—”
Meredith let out a hollow, humourless laugh. Addison turned; Richard did too.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said, crossing the room until she stood right beside Addison, “you cannot be serious right now. Sadie flat-out violated HIPAA. She betrayed her patient’s trust and is trying to get Addison sued by running to the husband with half a story.” Her eyes narrowed sharply. “Please tell me you weren’t considering sweeping this under the rug because her father.”
Addison’s head snapped toward her. “Her father?”
“He’s on the board,” Meredith said simply, before pinning Richard with a look. “Richard?”
He at least had the decency to look guilty. “It’s… a delicate situation.”
“What’s delicate,” Addison growled, voice low and dangerous, “is my patience with her attitude. Her disrespect. The way she speaks to patients. To attendings. To—” a glance at Meredith, “—everyone.”
“Now, I’m not here to argue,” Richard insisted, hands half-raised. “I came to inform you.”
Meredith folded her arms. “So what is the hospital doing?”
“Yes,” Addison said, eyes burning. “Enlighten me. Because right now you have a husband threatening to sue me for doing exactly what his wife asked… and a wife who will sue the hospital when she finds out her privacy was violated. Dr. Harris has made a mess of this in every possible direction.”
“We’ll settle with the Wards,” Richard said, voice curt. “Quietly.”
“And Addison’s reputation?” Meredith shot back. “She did nothing wrong.”
“As I said.” Richard’s tone sharpened. “Quietly.”
Addison let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands up. “Fantastic. Just fantastic.” She turned toward her desk again. “Get her off my service, I'm done.”
Richard nodded quickly, sensing the conversation was over and backed out, closing the door behind him. The silence that followed was thick with frustration. “I can’t believe that,” Meredith muttered.
“Which part?” Addison said quietly, defeated. “Your girlfriend trying to get me fired? Or the part where she breaks the law and walks away untouched?”
“Please don’t call her that,” Meredith said, nearly flinching.
Addison paused, she looked up—and the hurt in Meredith’s eyes made her expression soften instantly. “Sorry,” she murmured. She reached out a hand. Meredith took it, letting herself be pulled close until Addison was standing right in front of her.
Addison cupped Meredith’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Meredith’s fingers slid around Addison’s waist, holding, anchoring. For a long moment, they just breathed the same air, staring at each other with all the leftover anger melting into something else—something tender, protective, in love. Then Addison leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Deliberate. A sigh escaping against Meredith’s lips. When they parted, Meredith rested her forehead against hers. “Can we go home?” she whispered. “Please?”
Addison reached down, their fingers intertwining again. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Text
Addison woke to the alarm buzzing obnoxiously on the nightstand. She groaned, blindly flailed a hand in its direction, and missed entirely. A soft laugh sounded beside her. “Stop fighting it,” Meredith murmured, warm lips brushing Addison’s cheek as she reached over and silenced the alarm for her. “Go back to sleep.” Addison made a tired, appreciative noise and rolled into Meredith’s body like it was magnetic. Meredith wrapped an arm around her automatically, pressing another kiss to the shell of her ear. “Go back to sleep, Addie.”
“Mm. Bossy,” Addison slurred.
“You love it.” Addison didn’t disagree—she was already half under again. She drifted in and out, the weight of the blankets warm, everything smelling like Meredith and home. The next time she surfaced, it was to the faint rustle of clothes and the gentle press of lips against her temple. “Hey,” Meredith whispered. “I have to go now.”
Addison’s eyes stayed mostly closed as she hummed a response. “Have a good day,” Meredith added, brushing a thumb across her cheek with a tenderness that made Addison’s chest ache. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Love you,” Addison mumbled.
“Love you more.”
The door clicked softly behind her. The next time Addison woke, sunlight was brighter through the curtains… and someone was breathing suspiciously close to her. She blinked. Hard. Mark Sloan was on the other side of the bed, propped up on the pillows, scrolling on his phone like this was the most normal thing in the world.
She stared. “Mark.”
He didn’t look up. “Morning, sunshine.”
“What the hell are you doing in my bed?”
“Waiting for you to wake up.”
“Why?”
That made him look up. He sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow. Not exactly the gratitude I was expecting.”
“Mark.”
He tossed his phone aside and raised both eyebrows. “I heard what happened yesterday. With Harris. With Richard. With all of it.”
Addison exhaled, sinking back into the pillow. “Great. Hospital gossip really is faster than the internet.”
“Um, no,” Mark corrected, scooting closer like this was a sentimental moment. “I heard it from Meredith.”
Addison’s eyes narrowed. “Why was Meredith talking to you about it?”
“Because I asked.” He shrugged. “And because I’m your best friend, and you were upset, and—” he patted her arm, “—I decided you needed me.”
Addison blinked. “So… you broke into my bedroom?”
“I live here.”
“And?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I took the day off. We’re hanging out. Bestie day. Breakfast, maybe the park, maybe we bully Karev a little—”
“No bullying—”
“—and maybe,” Mark continued loudly, “we go look at puppies.”
Addison stared at him.
He smirked. “I knew that would get you.”
It did. Damn him. “You actually took a day off for me?” she asked, softer now.
Mark nodded, and for a fraction of a second, the cocky veneer cracked into something sincere. “Yeah. You had a shitty day. You shouldn’t spend today alone.”
Addison swallowed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Addison flopped back against her pillow with a groan. “Fine. Best friend day. But get out of my bed.”
Mark gasped theatrically. “You wound me.”
“Out.”
He rolled gracefully to his feet. “Whatever. I’m making breakfast.”
“You can’t cook.”
“Slander.” He smirked over his shoulder. “I will have you know I make an excellent bowl of cereal.” Addison threw a pillow at him. He dodged, cackling as he left the room. Alone again, Addison let herself smile— maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Meredith sat at the table in the attendings lounge with a lukewarm coffee she was determined to enjoy anyway. Teddy was beside her, flipping through a magazine while simultaneously inhaling a muffin. Cristina wandered in last, already mid-complaint. “I swear to God, if one more intern cries when I tell them they’re doing something wrong, I’m going to start carrying tissues and a resignation letter, for them.” Cristina dropped into the chair across from Meredith. “In that order.”
Meredith snorted. “Why are they crying? What did you say?”
“Nothing!” Cristina threw her hands up. “I said — and I quote — ‘If you don’t stop holding your retractor like it’s a baby bird, I’m going to remove you from my OR.’ Apparently that’s hurtful now.”
Teddy choked on her muffin. “Cristina, that is hurtful.”
“That is also accurate.” Cristina pointed at Meredith. “You’d have said the same thing.”
“Not out loud,” Meredith replied dryly, sipping her coffee. “I save my emotional damage for private moments.”
Teddy laughed, setting down the magazine. “Okay but seriously, how’s your morning? Quiet?”
“Well,” Meredith said, “Addison’s off today, so naturally the universe is preparing some kind of catastrophic punishment.”
Cristina nodded sagely. “It’s always the calm before the Addison-Montgomery butterfly effect.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow. “Is that the thing where she takes a day off and all hell breaks loose?”
Meredith lifted a finger. “Exactly that.”
Cristina leaned back, crossing her legs. “Speaking of your fiancée, I saw Mark strutting out of the hospital earlier like a man who was definitely scheduled to be here today.”
Meredith groaned. “He’s spending the day with Addison.”
Teddy blinked. “Like voluntarily left work?”
“Oh yes,” Meredith said. “He claims he took the day off because she needed best friend emotional support.” She shrugged, “After yesterday, he’s not wrong.”
Cristina’s face twisted in exaggerated pain. “Ugh, gross. Feelings.”
“That's cute,” Teddy argued.
“No, Meredith and Addison are cute,” Cristina corrected, waving dismissively. “Mark is… a golden retriever who learned to walk upright and flirt with anything that breathes.”
Meredith sputtered a laugh. “Accurate.”
Teddy pointed at her with a knowing grin. “So, how’s Addison after yesterday? She okay?”
Meredith hesitated, then nodded. “Better this morning. Exhausted. A little wrung out. But better.”
Cristina patted her arm like she was offering comfort but also trying to avoid too much sincerity. “Well, Harris is a gremlin who crawled out of a biohazard bin, so no surprise she made a mess.”
“Cristina,” Teddy sighed.
“No, she’s right,” Meredith said. “Sadie was rude to a patient, violated privacy, tried to get Addison sued, and somehow Richard’s solution was ‘let’s settle quietly.’”
Cristina grimaced. “Ugh. Old Boys’ Club damage control. They love that stuff.”
Teddy leaned back thoughtfully. “At least Addison has you, and Mark, and like half the attendings who would riot if anything actually happened to her.”
“And if it comes to that,” Cristina said, sipping Meredith’s coffee without asking, “we can always stage a coup.”
“What kind of coup?” Meredith asked warily.
“A surgical one,” Cristina said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Silent. Precise. Dramatic.”
Teddy snorted. “Absolutely not.”
Meredith laughed, shaking her head. “You are insane.”
Cristina tossed her hair smugly. “And yet you invited us to coffee.”
“I don’t recall inviting you to anything,” Meredith corrected, “I’m just suffering your presence.”
Teddy clinked her coffee cup against Meredith’s. “Cheers to that.”
Right as Cristina stole the rest of Teddy’s muffin, all three pagers erupted at once. Cristina groaned. “Let me guess. Trauma?”
Meredith stood, already grabbing her coat. “Of course. Addison takes one day off and the universe burns.”
Cristina pointed at her as they rushed toward the door. “See? Butterfly effect.”
Meredith smirked. “Called it," and just like that, the three of them disappeared down the hallway — the perfect storm of chaos, brilliance, and caffeine.
The three of them jogged into the ambulance bay just as the rig doors swung open. Paramedics spilled out with a stretcher, rattling off words that barely mattered — car crash, unstable, something about a steering wheel. Meredith was already pulling on gloves. “Okay, what’ve we got?”
“Driver in her thirties,” the paramedic said. “Was awake, then wasn’t. BP tanking.”
Cristina leaned over the patient. “Airway’s good. Breathing’s shallow. Fantastic. Love that journey for us.”
Teddy shot her a look. “Can you pretend to be human for five minutes?”
“No,” Cristina deadpanned. “Next question.”
Meredith suppressed a laugh as she leaned over the patient, assessing quickly. “Let’s get her inside.” They moved as one — pushing the stretcher, weaving through hallways, flanked by nurses who trailed behind like confused ducklings. In Trauma Two, the three surgeons slid seamlessly into their roles.
“Meredith, take airway,” Teddy ordered automatically.
Meredith nodded. “On it.”
“Cristina, get large-bore access.”
“I’ve been doing that since before you had a job here,” Cristina muttered, already moving.
Teddy rolled her eyes. “I’m so blessed.” She checked vitals, calling numbers out. Cristina clipped sensors onto the patient like she was angry at them. Meredith pressed on the patient’s abdomen, expression flattening.
“That’s not supposed to feel like that,” she said grimly.
“Nothing in trauma is supposed to feel like anything except ‘terrible,’” Cristina replied.
A nurse hovered, wide-eyed. “What do you need?”
“Confidence,” Cristina said.
“Time,” Meredith corrected. “And more hands.” They worked fast — the kind of synchronised chaos that only came from years of disasters, caffeine, and trauma bonding. The patient suddenly flinched with a weak groan. “Okay, good,” Meredith said. “She’s responding. That’s something.”
Cristina glanced at the monitor. “Barely. Let’s call it ‘a whisper of something.’”
“We’re taking her to the OR,” Teddy decided. “We don’t wait on scans for this.”
Meredith nodded. “Agreed.”
Cristina snapped her gloves off with unnecessary flair. “Finally, somewhere with decent lighting.”
Teddy side-eyed her. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Cristina said, stepping toward the door with a flourish, “you keep inviting me onto your trauma cases.”
“I don’t invite you,” Teddy said. “You appear like a vulture who smells chaos.”
“Thank you,” Cristina replied, entirely sincere.
Meredith followed them out with the stretcher. “Okay, enough flirting, let’s move.”
They rolled the patient toward the elevators, banter overlapping with orders, hands moving in perfect rhythm. By the time the doors slid shut, the nurses were looking at them like they were some kind of bizarre, unstoppable triad of chaos. In a way… they were.
They didn’t stop — not the dry commentary, not the steady teamwork, not the momentum — all the way into the OR, where the light hit the table and the hum of readiness settled around them. Cristina tied her gown with an unnecessarily dramatic flick. Meredith sighed. “Can you ever do anything normally?”
“No,” Cristina said easily. “It’s part of my charm.”
Teddy groaned. Meredith smiled. Cristina preened and together, they got to work — sharp, fast, flawless. A perfectly choreographed disaster response. Just another morning at Seattle Grace.
Addison blinked into the brightening morning as she stepped out of the house, scarf loosely wrapped around her neck even though she didn’t really need it. Seattle was finally thawing out. There was a softness in the air — sunlight without the bite, the smell of damp grass that didn’t instantly freeze, people actually walking dogs instead of rushing them back inside.
Mark fell into step beside her, hands in his jacket pockets, sunglasses perched on top of his head like he was manifesting summer. “So,” he said, bumping her shoulder lightly, “nature. Fresh air. Vitamin D. Think you remember how to do any of that?”
Addison rolled her eyes. “I go outside.”
“Yeah, Addison, to walk from the hospital entrance to your car. That doesn’t count.”
She shoved him. “I take days off.”
“You’re taking one right now only because Richard said so and your fiancée tucked you back into bed.”
Addison huffed, but she couldn’t fight the little smile breaking through. “She didn’t tuck me into bed.”
“Oh, she definitely did.”
Addison swatted his arm, which only made Mark grin wider. They reached the park — lush from the week’s rain, dotted with early cherry blossoms that looked like someone had taken a pink highlighter to the edges of the branches. Kids were running around. Couples were walking hand-in-hand. A guy was throwing a frisbee in a very irresponsible direction.
Mark inhaled dramatically. “Ahh. Spring. That magical season where Seattle pretends it’s not a rain cloud with buildings.”
Addison nudged him toward an open patch of grass. “Pick a spot.”
“This one,” he declared, dropping down onto the grass with all the grace of someone who absolutely never sits on the ground. “Come on, Addie. Be wild. Ruin those nice jeans.”
She sat anyway, stretching her legs out and lifting her face toward the sun. “It actually feels… nice.”
“That’s the serotonin,” Mark said sagely. “Very rare in this climate. We should bottle it.”
She snorted. “Please don’t pretend you know how serotonin works.”
“I know it makes you happy.” He plopped onto his back and looked over at her. “Which is why we’re here. You’ve been tense. Even for you. Meredith’s doing her whole protective-worried-fiancée thing, which is adorable, but she’s also five minutes from bubble-wrapping you.”
Addison sighed. “She just wants me to breathe.”
“So let’s breathe,” Mark said, arms behind his head. “Look — sky. No surgical lights. No beeping monitors. Just vibes.”
“That’s not a medical term.”
“It is now.”
They were quiet for a moment — a comfortable quiet, the kind that only comes with history and someone who knows every version of you. A squirrel scampered right up to Mark’s shoe, sniffing aggressively. Addison arched a brow. “You have a fan.”
Mark squinted at the squirrel. “Listen, buddy, I know I’m irresistible, but I don’t have snacks.”
The squirrel continued to stare, unimpressed. Addison smirked. “Even the wildlife doesn’t believe you.”
“Oh, screw you,” he said, tossing a blade of grass at her. “I’m a delight.”
“You are,” she said softly.
He stilled for a second — the kind of stillness he never let anyone else see. Then he swallowed, bumped her shoulder again, and said, “Yeah, well. So are you, and I’m allowed to make sure you have a good day.”
She leaned her head onto his shoulder — just for a moment, just enough. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Anytime.” Mark’s voice was warm, easy. “Now, should we talk about wedding plans, or is that going to send you straight back into fight-or-flight?”
“Mark.”
“What? I’m trying to help. I have thoughts about colour palettes.”
“You’re not picking our colour palette.”
“Addison, I am your best friend. It’s in my contract.”
“You don’t have a contract.”
“Oh, I definitely do,” he said confidently. “It’s written down somewhere. In the sacred texts.” She laughed — really laughed — and Mark grinned like that was the whole reason they were there. Addison shook her head playfully and let herself just sit in the sunshine and enjoy the world being kind for a moment.
The case wrapped cleanly, one of those rare trauma surgeries where everything went exactly the way it was supposed to. Teddy finished scrubbing and gave them both a satisfied nod. “I’m going to check on some post-ops,” she said. “Meet you for lunch.”
Cristina shooed her away. “Go. Bask in your cardiovascular glory.”
Teddy smiled and left, and the moment the door swung shut behind her, Cristina finally let her shoulders drop and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath through half the operation. Meredith tossed her mask in the bin, glancing sideways. “So.”
Cristina immediately shut it down. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“You’re Meredith. I know exactly what you’re going to ask.”
Meredith leaned on the counter, doing her best innocent face. “How are things since you moved in?” she asked sweetly. Cristina groaned dramatically and grabbed a towel to dry her hands, like the question physically harmed her.
“Ugh. Feelings. Why are we talking about feelings? We just saved a persons life. Let me bask in that.”
“Cristina,” Meredith said, crossing her arms.
Cristina pointed a finger right in her face. “You are not my therapist.”
“And yet you keep talking to me like I am.”
Cristina paused, “…unfortunately.”
Meredith waited, eyebrows raised. Finally Cristina threw the towel into the hamper like she was surrendering. “It’s fine.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s a perfectly acceptable answer! Fine is—”
“Oh my god,” Meredith said, “are you happy?”
Cristina blinked, startled. “What? No. I don’t do that.”
“Cristina.”
A beat. Cristina rubbed the back of her neck, eyes darting around the room like she was checking for witnesses. “Okay,” she muttered. “Maybe. A little.”
Meredith’s grin was instant. “You’re happy.”
“Nope. Shut that down.”
“You are actually, genuinely happy living with someone. You love her. She loves you. You’re nesting.”
Cristina looked horrified. “I am not nesting.”
“You have plants now.”
“They’re not plants, they’re decorative oxygen producers!”
“You bought Teddy a new blanket.”
“That was one time!...and it was for science!”
“What science?”
“How to get her to stop stealing mine,” Cristina snapped. “And it worked. So I stand by it.”
Meredith snorted, leaning against the door. “You’re disgustingly in love. I’m proud of you.”
Cristina let out an indignant noise. “I will stab you with a bone saw.”
Meredith laughed, soft and warm in a way it only ever was around Cristina. “You know,” she said, nudging Cristina’s shoulder, “I like seeing you like this. You deserve good things.”
Cristina made a face like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “Okay, stop. Seriously. I can’t have you being nice to me. This is—this is too much emotional exposure.”
Meredith held up her hands. “Fine. Back to normal.”
Cristina nodded. “Good.” They started walking toward the surgical board. Cristina added, under her breath, “But… things are good. With Teddy. Really good.” Cristina’s grin turned positively smug. “Sex whenever I want. Why didn’t you tell me about that perk sooner?”
“I thought it was obvious,” Meredith said, exasperated. “You’ve walked in on me and Addison more times than I want to remember.”
Cristina physically gagged. “Knowing isn’t the same as experiencing. Anyway, Teddy has—” she waved her hand vaguely, “—stamina, when she’s emotionally satisfied.” Meredith didn’t tease. She just nudged her shoulder lightly. Cristina—without looking at her—nudged back. “Say anything,” Cristina warned, “and I’m removing your gallbladder.”
Meredith smirked. “You can’t threaten me with surgery I wouldn’t even notice.”
“Fair.” They kept walking like the well-oiled, deeply deranged machine they’ve always been. The ER was unusually still, the kind of quiet that felt wrong. Meredith and Cristina stepped through the doors and immediately spotted Owen at the desk, arms crossed, scanning the near-empty beds.
Meredith raised a brow. “Wow. The calm before the apocalypse.”
Cristina nodded. “Feels fake. I don’t trust it.”
Owen huffed a laugh. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Need something?”
“Just checking if you were about to drown in consults,” Meredith replied.
He shook his head. “Slow day.” Then—far too casually—he glanced at Cristina. “Heard you moved in with Teddy.”
Cristina’s eyes widened like he’d accused her of murder. “What—who told—why—”
But before the spiral could fully activate, the ER doors slammed open. Lexie stumbled in, breathless, supporting Thatcher. He was pale, sweaty, and listing dangerously to one side. “Meredith!” Lexie’s voice cracked with panic. “Meredith—you’re here.”
Cristina muttered, “Here we go,” under her breath.
Meredith stepped forward instinctively. “Lexie—what happened?”
“The neighbours called,” Lexie rushed out. “They said they hadn’t seen him for days. He wasn’t answering the door, he wasn’t getting his mail, so I went over and—Meredith, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
Thatcher blinked at her, unfocused and swaying. “Mer…Meredith,” he slurred, “congratulations on… your engagement.” He gave a crooked, drunken-looking half-smile.
Meredith’s jaw clenched. “Did you find him on the floor of a bar, Lexie? Because that might be a clue.”
“I’m not drunk,” Thatcher snapped—or tried to. His words tangled. “I haven’t been… drinking.” He lifted a finger like he was about to deliver a lecture.
“No!” Lexie looked genuinely offended. “He was on the couch! Well… off the couch. Near the couch. On the floor. But not drunk—I don’t think. I don’t know!”
Before Meredith could respond, Thatcher gagged—once, twice—and then he vomited onto the ER floor. Lexie yelled. Owen lunged forward. Cristina recoiled like the splash radius might personally insult her. Meredith’s eyes snapped to Cristina. She exhaled sharply through her nose and muttered with grim resignation, “Addison-Montgomery butterfly effect.”
Cristina nodded. “Obviously.”
Bailey was already assessing Thatcher on an ER bed when he lurched forward and vomited again—nothing but sour liquid and the unmistakable smell of alcohol. It hit the floor with a splatter, and Bailey snapped, “Basin! Now!”
Schmidt scrambled with one, nearly fumbling it. DeLuca rushed to get vitals on the monitor, tangling himself in the leads. Kepner steadied Thatcher, her expression tight and clinical, though her eyes flickered with sympathy. Lexie hovered near the head of the bed, her voice sharp with panic. “His oxygen—can someone check his oxygen? And his blood pressure—something’s wrong, something’s wrong—”
“Grey, step back,” Bailey ordered, curt and controlled. “I need room. All of you—move with intention, please.” The ER snapped into motion around her. Meredith stayed just outside the chaos. Present but separate. Her hands tucked deep in the pockets of her coat, fingers balled into fists. Shoulders locked. She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched.
Thatcher gagged again, leaning sideways as Kepner caught him, guiding him back to sitting. “Hang fluids,” Bailey said. “Wide open. Get labs drawn—BMP, liver panel, alcohol level. Let’s see what we’re actually dealing with.”
Meredith flinched—small, subtle, but real. Lexie looked at her then, eyes wide and desperate, silently pleading for Meredith to make this less terrifying somehow. Meredith stepped half a foot closer. Not enough to enter the storm—just enough so Lexie wouldn’t feel alone in it.
Bailey’s voice was steady, even. “He’s showing signs of acute intoxication and dehydration. Until labs say otherwise, we treat what’s in front of us.”
Thatcher groaned, slurring something no one could make out. His head lolled before Bailey steadied him. Lexie’s voice cracked. “Could it—could it be something else? His kidneys, or—or withdrawal, or—” She sounded like she already knew the answer but wanted any other truth.
Meredith’s jaw tightened. Her breath hitched once, quietly. No one noticed except Cristina, who hovered beside her like a silent, immovable wall. “You don’t have to go over there,” Cristina murmured, eyes forward. “You’re here. That counts.”
Meredith swallowed hard. “Lexie needs me.”
Cristina arched a brow. “Lexie needs someone who isn’t about to pass out from emotional dehydration.”
Before Meredith could respond, Bailey snapped again— “Grey. Out. There are too many people in this room, and I can’t work with an audience.”
Lexie hesitated, torn between staying and obeying. Bailey pulled the curtain mostly shut, leaving Lexie just outside it—barely separated from her father. Lexie looked at Meredith, voice trembling. “He’s not drunk. I know he’s not. I—I swear, Mer—something else has to be wrong.”
Meredith didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her silence said enough. Lexie’s face crumpled—fear, denial, hope, all knotted together—as the curtain fell completely closed. “I’ll call Mark,” Meredith said softly. She nodded toward the curtained-off bay. “You stay with him. Okay?”
Lexie nodded, defeated. Meredith reached out, squeezing her hand gently before turning away. She moved down the hall, each step heavier than the last, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her fingers shook as she dialled. The moment Addison picked up, Meredith didn’t wait. The words falling out before she could soften them, “My dad’s drunk."
Meredith stood off to the side in the ER, arms folded tight, eyes fixed anywhere but directly at her father and sister. The interns scrambled, Kepner trying to keep the room coordinated, Bailey calling out orders. It was loud, frantic, and Meredith was the only one not moving. Just standing. Watching. Present, but not part of the living pulse of the room. She didn’t know if she wanted to bolt or stay rooted to the floor. She felt the shift in the air before the voice came—someone stepping up beside her.
“That your dad?” Sadie’s tone was low. Uncertain.
Meredith stiffened before turning just enough to confirm it was her. “Go away,” she said flatly.
Sadie exhaled, like she’d expected nothing else. Still, she stepped a little closer. “I just wanted to check if you were okay.”
“I’m not,” Meredith replied, low and sharp. “I haven’t been in months. But let’s not pretend you actually care.”
Sadie flinched, jaw tightening. “Do you really hate me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Meredith’s voice was incredulous. “After everything you’ve done since you got here—the lies, the bullying.” She angled toward her, voice sharpening. “Trying to get to Addison? Really? That was your strategy?”
Sadie swallowed, glancing toward the trauma bay as Bailey called for fluids. “You should be happy, then,” she muttered. “I’ve been suspended.”
“You should’ve been fired.”
A beat. Heavy and unmoving. They stared each other down—neither blinking, neither stepping back. A silent, simmering standoff: old feelings, old wreckage, nothing left but the fallout. Sadie was the one to look away first. Her posture loosened, the fight draining out of her. “…I’m sorry about your dad,” she said quietly.
Meredith didn’t answer.
Sadie nodded once, resigned, and passed through the ER doors, disappearing into the sunlight outside. Two seconds later, they slid open again—Addison rushed in, Mark right behind her. He gave her a nod before jogging off toward where Lexie was hovering, clearly ready to jump in and help with whatever chaos remained. Addison turned to Meredith, her eyes soft but urgent. “Hey,” she murmured, stepping close.
Without waiting for a reply, she wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in. Meredith stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly melted against Addison’s warmth. Her forehead rested against Addison’s neck, and she let herself breathe out all the tension she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding.
“You’re okay,” Addison whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Meredith’s temple.
Meredith let out a shaky laugh against her neck. “I needed this… more than I thought.”
Addison smiled, soft and knowing. “Yeah, well, lucky for you, I’m full-time emotional support today.”
Meredith finally pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glistening. “I love you,” she said quietly, the words catching somewhere deep in her throat.
Addison’s hand lifted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Meredith’s ear, lingering as if she could smooth away more than just the stray hair. “I love you too,” she said softly, fingers intertwining with Meredith’s. “Come with me?”
“Okay,” Meredith replied.
Addison led her out into the courtyard. The afternoon sun warmed their faces, and for a moment, the hospital buzzed like a distant hum. They stopped at the coffee cart, grabbed two steaming cups, and walked to a quiet bench under the budding trees. Meredith settled onto the seat, absently stirring her coffee, while Addison perched beside her. She didn’t speak — she didn’t need to. Instead, she slipped an arm around Meredith’s shoulders, pulling her close.
Meredith leaned into the embrace, letting herself be held. They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the faint sounds of the hospital and the world beyond. Every so often, Addison pressed a gentle kiss to Meredith’s temple, quiet and grounding. Meredith’s fingers brushed hers, finding warmth and steadiness in the touch. She exhaled, leaning fully into her fiancée. “I could get used to this,” she said quietly.
“Good,” Addison murmured against her hair, fingers tightening around hers. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The two of them sat in the gentle warmth, hands intertwined, occasional quiet laughs as they talked softly. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the courtyard, but here, in this small bubble of stillness, nothing else existed except them. Meredith sipped her coffee one last time and rested her head against Addison’s shoulder. “Thanks,” she murmured, voice barely above the rustle of leaves.
Addison brushed her lips against Meredith’s temple again, her fingers warm and steady over hers. “Always,” she said simply.
The bedroom was dim except for the soft pool of light from the lamp on Addison’s nightstand. The rest of the house was still. Meredith lay on her side with her back pressed lightly to Addison’s stomach, both of them tucked under the duvet, legs tangled in that instinctive way they always seemed to find each other. Addison brushed aside a strand of Meredith’s hair, fingertips gentle against her temple. “Talk to me,” she murmured, her voice low, warm.
Meredith didn’t answer right away. She stared at the wall, blinking slowly, her breathing steady but tight — the kind of tight Addison had learned to hear before she ever saw it. “I don’t know,” Meredith said finally. “I should be used to it by now.” Her voice was quiet, flat. “He falls apart, and somehow I still feel like I’m the one who did something wrong.”
Addison’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her in closer. “You didn’t,” she said firmly, but gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Meredith huffed a laugh — small, bitter, humourless. “You ever feel like someone being broken is… your fault? Even when you know it’s not?” Her voice cracked a little at the end, barely noticeable unless you loved her as much as Addison did.
Addison pressed her lips to the back of Meredith’s shoulder, lingering there. “Meredith,” she breathed, “you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. You’ve tried. You’ve given him chance after chance. That is love. That is more than enough.”
“He looked at me,” Meredith whispered, eyes going glassy. “And all I could think was… of course. Of course he’s drinking again. Of course I’m the last person he wants to get better for.” She swallowed. “And it still hurt. Like it surprised me.”
Addison slid her hand up to Meredith’s chest, just over her heart, grounding her. “You’re allowed to hurt,” she whispered. “It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you human.”
For the first time since the ER, Meredith’s body softened, melting back against Addison fully, almost collapsing into the warmth behind her. “I keep thinking,” Meredith murmured, “that Lexie deserves a better sister. Someone who can stand with her at the bedside and not… shut down.”
“She deserves you,” Addison countered, her tone absolute. “Just the way you are. You showed up. Even when it hurt. Even when you were drowning. You were there.” Meredith closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Addison’s hand traced slow, calming lines along her forearm. “You don’t have to take it on alone," she said quietly.
Meredith turned her head just enough to see Addison’s face over her shoulder. Her voice was soft, vulnerable in a way she rarely let anyone hear. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Addison smiled — small, tender. “Good thing you’re stuck with me,” she whispered, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Meredith’s lips.
Meredith kissed her back, lingering, needing. When they pulled away, Addison rested their foreheads together. “You’re safe,” she murmured. “You’re home. And whatever happens with Thatcher… I'm here.”
Meredith turned in her arms, curling closer. Her head tucked beneath Addison’s chin, Addison’s arms wrapped tight around her. In the quiet warmth of their bed, with Addison’s heartbeat steady against her, the world finally felt survivable again. They stayed wrapped together in the quiet for a while, Addison’s fingers tracing slow, comforting patterns along her spine.
Eventually, Addison exhaled, soft but deliberate — that little tell Meredith had learned meant she was working up to something. “Hey…” Addison murmured, her fingers pausing just long enough for Meredith to notice. “Can I… run something by you?”
Meredith shifted slightly, not pulling away, just tilting her head so she could see Addison’s face. “Hmm?”
“I was thinking,” Addison began carefully — gently, because she knew Meredith’s walls were paper-thin right now — “maybe we should get away for a few days.”
Meredith blinked slowly. “…Away?”
“Yeah.” Addison brushed her thumb along Meredith’s cheekbone, her touch feather-light. “Just a vacation. Time to breathe. Time to reset. You’ve been carrying… a lot.”
Meredith huffed a tiny, humourless laugh. “That obvious?”
Addison pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Only to someone who loves you.”
Meredith closed her eyes at that — because it hit, and she felt it. But then her brow furrowed. “Lexie,” she murmured. “I can’t just… leave. She might need me. She’s dealing with Thatcher alone, and—”
“I know,” Addison said immediately, not arguing, not pushing. “And I would never ask you to abandon her. She’s your sister. She’s important.” Meredith’s shoulders loosened slightly. “But.” Addison’s voice softened, warm as sunlight. “You’re allowed to be important too…and she’s not alone, she has Mark.”
Meredith sighed, torn. “What were you thinking? Where?”
Addison hesitated for a beat — then a small, hopeful smile tugged at her mouth. “LA.”
Meredith’s brows rose. “Why LA?”
“Well…” Addison tucked a strand of hair behind Meredith’s ear, her eyes gentle but earnest. “Because one of my closest friends out there is a fertility specialist. The best. And I thought…” She paused, searching Meredith’s expression. “That maybe we could talk to her.”
Meredith’s breath caught — not in fear, but something deeper, warmer. “Addison…”
“We wouldn’t have to decide anything,” Addison rushed to add, her thumb stroking Meredith’s jaw. “No pressure, no plan, no timeline. Just a conversation. Just… seeing what the future could look like for us.”
Meredith swallowed, something tender and aching blooming behind her ribs.
“I don’t want you to think I’m pushing,” Addison said softly. “I just… after today, after everything we’ve been dealing with… I started thinking about what we get. What we build. Not out of trauma. Not out of grief. Just because we want to.”
There was a long silence — but it wasn’t heavy. It was full. Finally, Meredith whispered, “You’re talking about us having a baby.”
Addison smiled — small, luminous, a little nervous. “I’m talking about us exploring what that could look like. Together.”
Meredith let out a shaky breath that melted into a genuine, fragile smile. “LA…” She looked back at Addison, eyes softening. “That could be… good.”
Addison’s chest eased, visibly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Meredith murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Addison’s lips. “Let me talk to Lexie in the morning. But… yeah.”
Addison kissed her again, slower this time, with a tenderness that settled deep into Meredith’s bones. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered against her lips. “All of it. Together.”
The room settled again after the last soft kiss. Meredith stayed tucked against Addison, her fingers absently curling into the fabric of Addison’s shirt like she was afraid letting go might unravel something inside her. Addison stroked her back, gentle, rhythmic. “You okay?” she murmured.
Meredith nodded, but the nod dissolved into a sigh — a long, shaky exhale that trembled through her whole body. Addison felt it. Felt the shift. Felt the emotion still buzzing in Meredith’s muscles. “Come here,” she whispered, tilting Meredith’s chin up with a touch so soft it barely qualified as touch at all.
Meredith rolled onto her back, eyes shining faintly in the low lamplight. Addison leaned over her, propping herself on an elbow, her other hand coming to rest on Meredith’s cheek. The look she gave her was devastating in its gentleness. Meredith swallowed. “You’re being very… sweet.”
Addison brushed her thumb along her jaw. “You needed soft tonight.” Meredith’s breath hitched — not with pain, but something warmer. Something unravelling. “You need to feel chosen,” Addison added, voice low. “I’m choosing you. Always”
Meredith’s hand slid up Addison’s side, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing until they rested just beneath Addison’s ribs. Addison’s own breath caught as Meredith murmured, voice low but certain “Show me."
Addison didn’t kiss her immediately. She let the moment hang—the anticipation, the closeness, the shared breath—before she finally leaned in and kissed her — slow at first, coaxing, like she was giving Meredith room to break or lean in or pull away. Meredith didn’t pull away. She arched into it, fingers catching Addison’s hip, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned again, heat pressed to heat.
Addison slid her hand into Meredith’s hair, guiding her gently back onto the pillows. The kiss deepened without either of them trying. Soreness and grief blurred into want, into relief, into the kind of connection that wasn’t about distraction — it was about connecting. Addison shifted closer, sliding between Meredith’s thighs, their breaths growing uneven in the same breath. Meredith’s hands found Addison’s hair, tugging her in, kissing her harder — not frantic, not rushed, but desperate in a quiet, consuming way.
Addison’s breath broke against her mouth. “Mer…”
Meredith only pulled her tighter. “I need you,” she murmured, not as plea but as truth. Addison kissed her again, deeper, her palm smoothing down Meredith’s side, following the curve of her waist until she found bare skin. Meredith shivered, arching into the warmth of her touch.
The air shifted — charged, intimate, heavy with meaning. Addison moved slowly, deliberately, every motion asking, every touch checking in without words. Meredith answered each one with a soft sound, with a press of her hips, with her fingers curling at the nape of Addison’s neck.
There was no rush — just a slow, intoxicating build as Addison settled over her, her forehead resting against Meredith’s, their breaths nearly shared. Meredith lifted to meet her, their bodies finding a rhythm all their own, moving together with an intensity that was less frantic and more inevitable. The world outside their bed disappeared. Every kiss, every roll of hips, every whisper felt like stitching Meredith back together.
They moved like that — close, warm, needing each other — letting the heat rise between them in quiet, trembling waves. When the moment crested, it did so softly but powerfully, both of them buried in each other’s breaths, each other’s hands. Meredith’s chest rose and fell beneath Addison’s, her hands still tangled in her hair, not wanting to let her go. Addison stayed there, pressing a slow kiss beneath Meredith’s ear, then to her cheek, then to her lips — gentle now, comforting.
“Okay?” Addison whispered against her skin.
Meredith nodded, eyes closed, voice barely audible. “I am now.”
Addison smiled against her cheek, adjusting so she could hold Meredith properly, pulling the blanket over both of them. Meredith curled into her again, her fingers resting over Addison’s heartbeat. After a long, breathy quiet, Meredith murmured, “Addison?”
“Yeah?”
Meredith opened her eyes slowly, looking up at her — soft, vulnerable, steady. “If we do go to LA…” she whispered, fingertips tracing lightly along Addison’s ribs, “…I want it to be because we’re building something. Not running from something.”
Addison’s eyes warmed instantly — with understanding, with pride, with love. “We are,” she whispered, kissing her forehead. “Everything we’re choosing… it’s all building.”
Meredith’s voice was soft but sure. “Then let’s go.”
Addison exhaled, a quiet, overwhelmed laugh brushing Meredith’s temple. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll go.” Meredith closed her eyes, smiling into Addison’s collarbone as Addison held her close — warm, steady, hers.
Chapter Text
Addison stood beside Mark quietly, each of them watching a Grey sister through the small window as the two women talked softly at their father’s bedside. Mark’s sigh broke the stillness—it was deep, heavy, and threaded with helplessness. “How’s Lexie dealing?” Addison asked finally, her voice low enough not to carry.
“I don’t know if I’d call it dealing.” Mark’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a frown, not quite a wince. “She was pretty upset last night when Bailey confirmed his BAC. Kept insisting it had to be something else. Anything else.”
Addison nodded, her jaw tightening. “It’s a hard truth to accept.”
Mark gave a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, it is.” He glanced sideways at her. “What about Meredith?”
“She feels a tremendous amount of guilt.” Addison’s voice softened, sadness threading through it. “I don’t think she’ll ever not feel that about all this.”
Mark exhaled sharply. He knew the story. Lexie had told him one night months ago—back when Meredith had vanished, leaving the hospital held together by frayed threads and worry. Lexie never blamed Meredith for her mother’s death. Not once. But Thatcher… that was different. The things he’d said to Meredith, the abandonment, the rejection—when someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally cuts you that deep, the scar never really fades. It didn’t surprise Mark at all that Meredith was feeling the weight again, heavy, familiar, suffocating.
Before he could respond, Richard stepped beside them, folding his arms across his broad chest as he looked through the window too. “How’re they doing?” he asked quietly.
Addison’s head snapped toward him, eyes cold, her anger—still simmering from her patient situation—sparking instantly. “How do you think?” she bit out, her voice edged and sharp.
Richard flinched at her tone, turning to meet her stare, concern creasing his brow. Before the tension could ignite further, Mark cleared his throat pointedly. “They’re discussing options,” he said, cutting cleanly through the charged air.
Richard nodded, though the line of his shoulders stayed tense. “If they need anything…” he started, trailing off as the door to Thatcher’s room swung open.
Meredith and Lexie stepped out, both of them looking tired in different ways— Lexie’s exhaustion drawn across her face like a bruise, Meredith’s tucked in tight behind her eyes. Addison straightened instinctively. Mark’s posture softened. Lexie spotted Mark first; her eyes flooded with relief the moment he opened his arms, and she walked directly into them, pressing her forehead against his chest. He held her close, murmuring something gentle against her hair.
Meredith hesitated a few steps away. Addison took one look at her and moved without thinking—quiet, steady, offering a presence rather than a demand. Meredith stopped in front of her, shoulders rising as if she were bracing for a question. But Addison didn’t ask anything. She simply reached out, sliding her hand into Meredith’s, giving it a soft, grounding squeeze.
Meredith exhaled—a shaky breath that left her a little less guarded. She didn’t lean in, didn’t collapse, but her fingers curled around Addison’s hand and stayed there.
Richard took a small step toward them. “Meredith… Lexie… anything you need, the hospital—”
“We’ve got it,” Meredith interrupted softly, her voice even but tired. “We’ll figure out the next steps.”
Richard nodded, looking between them, wanting to say more but recognising the closed door in Meredith’s expression. He stepped back. Lexie lifted her head from Mark’s chest, her voice quiet. “We… should go talk to Bailey about the detox plan.”
“Yeah,” Meredith murmured, squeezing Addison’s hand once before releasing it. “Let’s just… get through today.”
Addison watched her go, worry pulling gently at her features. Mark caught her eye over Lexie’s shoulder, his own expression mirroring the same unspoken thought: They’re strong. But they’re hurting.
Addison, watching Meredith’s retreating form, knew one thing for certain— She’d make damn sure Meredith suffer under that hurt alone.
Dr. Wyatt’s office was warm today. Not hot—just the kind of warm that made the air feel softer, gentler. A deliberate choice, Meredith suspected. She sat on the couch, legs crossed, thumb tracing the seam of her scrub pants. Dr. Wyatt settled into her chair across from her, glasses perched low on her nose, notepad resting untouched in her lap.
“How have things been since our last session?” she asked, voice even, steady. “Any changes?”
Meredith exhaled slowly. “Better,” she said, surprising herself with how true it felt. “I’m still having nightmares, but not as often. And they… don’t knock me out for the entire day anymore.”
A small smile tugged at Dr. Wyatt’s mouth. “That’s good to hear. Have the grounding exercises been useful?”
“I think so.” Meredith shrugged, but it wasn’t avoidance—it was cautious honesty. “They help on the bad nights. Or when I feel… pulled back into it the darkness.”
Dr. Wyatt nodded approvingly. “I’m glad. Those are signs of progress, Meredith. Real progress.”
Meredith looked away at that, picking at a thread on her sleeve. Praise always made something twist inside her—unfamiliar, undeserved.
Dr. Wyatt shifted slightly. “Is there something else you want to talk about today?”
Meredith hesitated. The air felt heavier suddenly. She inhaled, exhaled, picked at the thread again. “My father,” she said finally.
Dr. Wyatt didn’t react with surprise. Just quiet attention. “Tell me.”
“Lexie brought him in. He wasn’t… sick. Not really.” A shaky breath. “He was drunk. Again. After everything. After we thought he was doing better.” Her voice wavered on the last word.
Dr. Wyatt softened. “And how did that make you feel?”
Meredith let out a humourless, breathy laugh. “Guilty.”
Dr. Wyatt tilted her head. “Because of Susan.”
Meredith’s throat tightened instantly. She nodded once, jaw locking. “It was my OR,” she forced out. “My case. I was a resident. I missed something—God, I must have—because she was fine one second and the next she was crashing and then… she died. He—he looked at me like I killed her. He said things. He walked away and never came back, not really, and it broke him and I—”
Her voice cracked. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Tears stung, hot and sharp. Dr. Wyatt leaned forward slightly—not closing distance, but offering steadiness. “Meredith. Susan died from complications no one could have predicted. You didn’t cause her death.”
Meredith shook her head, tears slipping free despite her trying to blink them back. “But he started drinking after that. It got worse because of that. Because of me.”
“No,” Dr. Wyatt said gently but firmly. “It got worse because your father didn’t know how to cope with his grief. Because he chose not to.” She paused, letting it settle. “Your choices didn’t put that bottle in his hand.”
Meredith’s shoulders trembled. She wiped quickly at her eyes, embarrassed by how raw she felt.
Dr. Wyatt’s voice softened even more. “Meredith… you were a resident who lost a patient. A woman you cared about. You grieved her too. But you kept going. You grew. He… didn’t. That is not your burden to carry.”
Meredith swallowed hard. Something inside her loosened—just a fraction, but enough to hurt. “I know you’re right,” she whispered. “I just… don’t know how to stop feeling responsible for the fallout.”
“You do it slowly,” Dr. Wyatt said. “and with support. With time. By letting yourself build something separate from all of that pain.”
Meredith blinked at that, then let out a small breath. “We’re trying.”
“We?” Dr. Wyatt smiled knowingly.
Meredith’s cheeks warmed slightly—a rare, quiet vulnerability. “Addison and I are… looking at options. For a family. She has a friend in L.A. who’s a fertility specialist. We might go talk to her. Just to explore things.”
Dr. Wyatt’s smile deepened in a way that was both professional and genuinely warm. “Meredith… that’s wonderful news.”
“It’s kind of terrifying,” Meredith admitted, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes that had been absent for months. “But it feels good. It feels like… moving forward. Like living.”
“I am incredibly proud of you,” Dr. Wyatt said, voice gentle and honest. “Nine months ago, you were barely holding yourself together. Now… you’re building something. You’re seeing possibilities beyond what hurt you. That’s not small, Meredith. It’s remarkable.”
Meredith looked down, breathing in slowly, letting the words settle before she allowed herself a small, soft smile. “I hope so,” she whispered.
“I know so,” Dr. Wyatt replied and for the first time in a long time—Meredith almost believed it too.
The door to Dr. Wyatt’s office clicked shut behind Meredith, and she exhaled slowly, rubbing her palms against her thighs as she stepped into the hallway. She only made it three steps before she saw him. “Alex?” she blinked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to look concerned. Classic Alex Karev: the human equivalent of a guard dog pretending he didn’t care who he was guarding. He shrugged. “Addison got pulled into an emergency. Something about a pregnancy gone sideways — placenta accreta, lots of shouting. She didn’t want you coming out to an empty hallway.”
Meredith stared at him, something warm and grateful flickering behind her eyes. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, starting down the hallway so she’d have to walk with him, “I didn’t want you wandering off to dark corners to brood alone. Saves me having to drag you out of a supply closet later.”
Meredith huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Thanks.”
They fell into step, neither speaking for a long stretch of corridor. The hospital hummed around them — pagers, footsteps, PA calls — but between them, the quiet held. Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “So… your dad.”
Meredith stiffened, eyes fixed forward. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, unfazed. “Makes sense.” More silence. Then, gently—gentler than most people ever heard from him— “My dad was an alcoholic.” Meredith’s gaze flicked to him before she could stop it. Alex kept talking, voice low, steady. “He’d disappear for stretches. Come back sober. Then drunk. Then sober again. It was like… roulette. Except it always landed on disappointment.”
Meredith’s chest tightened. “Alex—”
“I get it.” His tone wasn’t pitying; it was understanding, plain and simple. “That kind of thing? It screws you up. Even when you act like it doesn’t.”
Meredith swallowed, looking down. “I should feel… something. Or more than something. But mostly I feel tired and guilty.” She shook her head. “And then stupid for feeling guilty.”
Alex gave a snort. “Sounds about right.”
She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Can we talk about something else?”
He nodded immediately. “Sure.”
She glanced sideways. “How are things with Jo?”
That was the magic question — the one that turned Alex Karev into a soft marshmallow. His face opened up, just a little. “Good. Really good, actually.” His hands came out of his pockets as if the memory warmed him physically. “We found a place.”
Meredith smiled, small but real. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. A real place. Needs work, but…” He shrugged again, but this time there was something bright in it. “We’re gonna buy it. Fix it up.”
“I’m happy for you,” Meredith said softly. “Really.”
He looked at her for a beat, and something unspoken passed between them — gratitude, affection, the weird sibling bond that had grown out of trauma and surgeries and a thousand quiet moments like this one.
They reached Thatcher’s room. Lexie was inside, perched on a chair, talking quietly to her father as he dozed. Her fingers were threaded gently through his, her face pale and tired but determined. Meredith stopped in the doorway, Alex stopped beside her. Her breath caught — sharply, almost painfully. Alex saw it. He didn’t say anything. He just placed a warm, grounding hand on the small of her back. Not pushing her forward. Just keeping her steady. “You don’t have to go in,” he murmured.
Meredith kept her eyes on Lexie. “Yeah."
Alex squeezed her hand gently — the kind of silent support Meredith rarely accepted but always felt.
Addison pushed open the on-call room door quietly, already expecting the lights to be dim. They were — a soft low glow from the lamp, the hum of the hospital barely seeping in through the walls. There, stretched out on the narrow bed, one arm slung over her eyes, was Meredith. Addison’s expression softened instantly. She stepped inside and closed the door with a gentle click. “Hey,” she whispered.
Meredith didn’t move at first. Then her arm slid just enough for one eye to peek at Addison. “Hey.”
Addison crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a thumb over Meredith’s knee through her scrubs. “Long morning?”
Meredith made a tired sound. “Therapy. Then checking on Lexie. Then trying not to commit actual homicide in the hallway.”
Addison snorted softly. “So… normal day?”
“Basically.”
Addison leaned down and pressed a kiss to Meredith’s forehead, letting her lips linger. Meredith exhaled, her shoulders easing for the first time in hours. “How was therapy?” Addison asked gently, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Meredith’s ear.
Meredith hesitated, then relaxed into the touch. “Good. Hard. But good.” She lowered her arm and turned fully toward Addison. “We talked about… him. The guilt, and I know logically it isn’t my fault but—”
“Your heart hasn’t gotten the memo yet,” Addison finished, brushing her knuckles along Meredith’s cheek.
“Exactly.”
Addison’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to rush it.”
Meredith’s throat worked, but she didn’t look away. “I spoke to Bailey about the plan. For Thatcher. I told her we’re keeping him here until he’s stable, then… we’ll figure out the rest.” Meredith swallowed. “Lexie’s hopeful. I… I’m not there yet.”
“That’s okay,” Addison murmured. “Hope isn’t a requirement.”
Meredith huffed, half-laugh, half-sigh, and caught Addison’s wrist gently. “What about you? How was your surgery?”
Addison rolled her eyes but smiled. “Severe. The kind you normally need three surgeons, two units of O-negative, and a small miracle for.” She shrugged lightly. “We saved her. Baby too.”
Meredith’s lips quirked. “Of course you did.”
Addison traced a slow circle on the inside of Meredith’s wrist. “It reminded me why I still love this job.”
Meredith watched her with that look — the soft, private one she only ever gave Addison. “You’re amazing.” The words were quiet, instinctive, lived-in. “I love you.”
Addison leaned down, forehead pressed to Meredith’s. “I love you too.” They stayed like that for a moment — breathing the same air, the hum of the hospital fading to white noise around them. Then Addison nudged her lightly. “Come on. You need food.”
Meredith groaned. “I don’t want food.”
“I know.” Addison kissed her cheek. “But you’re getting food. Preferably something green and not from a vending machine.”
“Ugh.”
Addison stood and offered her hand. “I’ll even walk very slowly so you can pretend you’re not being dragged like a toddler.”
Meredith took the hand, letting Addison pull her upright. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
Meredith rolled her eyes, but she leaned into Addison as they walked out of the on-call room together — fingers intertwined, shoulders brushing — the quiet kind of intimacy that made the entire hallway feel warmer.
The cafeteria was its usual midday chaos — pagers chirping, chairs scraping, the smell of overcooked fries hanging in the air. Meredith and Addison walked in shoulder-to-shoulder, still brushing fingers every now and then like they couldn’t quite help it. Teddy spotted them first and waved them over. Cristina didn’t even look up from aggressively dissecting a sandwich.
“Finally,” Cristina said. “I was about to declare Meredith dead and claim her patient load.”
“You can’t claim my patient load,” Meredith said, sliding into the seat beside her. "They're not all Cardio."
“I can,” Cristina countered. “Finders keepers. It’s surgical law.”
Teddy snorted. “That is not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing,” Cristina said, then pointed her fork at Meredith. “You’re lucky your redheaded girlfriend dragged you here in time.”
Addison raised an eyebrow at the demotion. “Girlfriend?”
Cristina froze for half a second, then shrugged unapologetically. Meredith shot her a look that promised violence. Addison just smirked and stole a fry off her tray. Teddy leaned in. “You two are cute.”
Meredith dropped her forehead dramatically to the table. “Please stop.”
“No,” Teddy said cheerfully. “I don’t get nearly enough entertainment these days.”
“We work with Owen,” Cristina said. “How do you not have enough entertainment? The man breathes trauma.”
“Exactly,” Teddy agreed. “I need a break.”
Addison dabbed at the condensation on her iced tea with a napkin. “We can be entertaining on a schedule if that helps you.”
“Oh god,” Meredith groaned. “Do not encourage them.”
Before anyone could answer, Callie and Arizona arrived — Callie carrying two trays like a pack mule, Arizona walking beside her with a smoothie and big bright energy. Callie dropped everything onto the table. “Okay, who wants fries? I accidentally ordered a double.”
Cristina’s hand was already halfway out. “Me. Always.”
Arizona nudged Meredith with her elbow as she sat down. “You look less… broody. That’s good.”
Meredith wrinkled her nose. “I’m not broody.”
The entire table — the entire table — responded in perfect, immediate, overlapping harmony: “Yes, you are.”
Meredith glared at all of them. “I hate this hospital.”
Addison patted her thigh under the table, hidden from view. “No you don’t.”
Meredith glared harder. “I hate all of them.”
Arizona beamed. “See? She’s feeling better! Look at that spirit.”
Teddy laughed into her drink. Callie leaned into Arizona’s shoulder, amused. Cristina stole another fry from Callie’s tray with the speed of a trained thief. Addison leaned just slightly closer to Meredith, shoulder brushing hers.
For a minute, just a minute, it felt normal.
Warm.
Safe.
Like maybe things were allowed to be good.
Meredith — annoyed, surrounded, loved — let herself smile into her coffee.
They walked slowly down the hallway together after lunch, side by side, not really in a hurry to return to the day. The buzz of the hospital faded into something muted and distant — nurses passing, phones ringing, stretchers rolling — but somehow none of it touched them. Addison’s hand brushed Meredith’s as they walked, just lightly, like a question. Meredith answered by hooking her finger through Addison’s for a moment. Not quite hand-holding. But close.
“So,” Addison said gently, eyes forward but voice warm, “about L.A.”
Meredith breathed out a small, almost shy hum. “Yeah?”
“I was thinking…” Addison glanced over at her, the corner of her mouth lifting. “How's next week? Give Thatcher time to stabilise, get into treatment, let Lexie settle. That way you’re not leaving in the middle of the chaos.”
Meredith absorbed that quietly, her brow softening rather than tightening — a rare sight, one Addison never took for granted. “Yeah,” Meredith said. “That feels… good, actually.”
“Good,” Addison murmured, bumping her shoulder gently against Meredith’s. “We deserve a little escape. Sun. Sleep. Maybe a beach… and future possibilities conversations.”
Meredith’s eyes flicked to her, softening with something hopeful and a little fragile. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I want that.”
Addison’s smile bloomed slowly, warm and proud. “I know, I do too.” Before Meredith could answer, Addison’s pager chirped sharply. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “Webber wants me.”
“Good luck,” Meredith said, but there was a real smile tugging at her lips now.
“I’ll tell him we’re taking a few days,” she said quietly. "and that you’re mine for all of them.” She brushed a hand over Meredith’s cheek with a touch so gentle it felt like a secret.
Meredith’s eyes softened. “I don’t mind hearing that.” She just reached up, cupped Addison’s jaw lightly with one hand, and kissed her. Soft. Slow. Certain. The kind of kiss that settled things instead of stirring them up. Addison exhaled against her mouth, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she pulled back — but only far enough to look at her.
“Go be brilliant,” Addison whispered.
Meredith gave her a small, crooked smile that was all gratitude and affection and exhaustion held together by sheer stubbornness. Addison turned to go — long strides, red hair catching the overhead lights — and Meredith watched her with a softness she rarely allowed herself.
Then her pager went off, shrill and insistent. It was the pit. Meredith sighed, squared her shoulders, and headed toward the elevator — the warmth of Addison’s touch still lingering on her skin as the hospital swallowed her back up.
“No.” Her tone snapped hard enough to echo around the office. “Absolutely not, Richard. You can’t be serious.”
“I hate to say —”
“Then don’t.” She stood abruptly, pacing. “Not this week. Not now. You cannot expect me to be okay with this.”
“Addison,” he said firmly. “This patient needs you. You’re one of the few surgeons skilled enough to help.”
“Please don’t stroke my ego,” she bit out. “It’s not helping.”
Richard leaned back, hands folded neatly—calm in the face of her storm. “You know very well TTTS can be fatal in inexperienced hands.”
Her glare could’ve scorched the walls. “Don’t lecture me on my own specialty.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, I'm sorry. I know this week has been difficult for Meredith, for both of you. You want to be here for her. But this is your job, and I’m not asking.”
Addison stared at him, jaw tight, breath sharp. Fighting the reality settling over her.
“You’ll take a resident with you,” he added before she could argue. “Anyone you want.”
A long, defeated sigh left her. “Wilson, then.”
“Done. I’ll have Patricia handle the details. Wheels up tomorrow morning.” He waved her off dismissively. Addison left the office with frustration burning under her ribs and disappointment weighing down every step.
By the time Meredith pushed through the doors into the pit, Arizona stood at the foot of an empty gurney, gloves half-on, face sharp with focus. Alex was beside her, snapping on a gown. Then the paramedics came through, the gurney rolling fast. The kid — maybe thirteen, fourteen — lay pale and wide-eyed, a section of bent metal rail still wedged through his left side, stabilised with splints and tape. He looked terrified, breaths high and quick.
“We’ve got you,” Arizona called immediately, stepping forward with that soft but confident tone she reserved for kids. “You’re in the right place, buddy.”
Meredith moved to the other side of the stretcher, matching their pace as they rolled it into the trauma bay. “What’s your name?” she asked, keeping her voice calm.
“E—Ethan,” the kid stuttered, tears clinging to his lashes.
“Okay, Ethan,” Meredith said gently. “We’re gonna take care of you. You’re not alone.”
Arizona nodded at the paramedics. “What happened?”
“Skateboard,” one of them answered. “Lost control, hit a fence. It broke. Went straight through.”
Alex grimaced. Arizona leaned over Ethan, brushing a gloved hand over his hairline. “Hey, big guy. You like skateboarding?”
He gave a tiny laugh that choked halfway through. “Yeah.”
“Well, you’re officially banned until I say so,” she said lightly. “Which I know is devastating. We’ll get you fixed up first.”
Meredith met Alex’s eyes across the gurney, a silent exchange: stabilise now, questions later. “Okay,” she said, steady, grounding the room. “Let’s keep pressure off the wound and get imaging on the way. Alex, get us an OR. Arizona, stay with him, keep him talking.”
Ethan whimpered as they shifted him, and Meredith immediately moved closer to his head. “Ethan,” she said quietly, “look at me.” His big, scared eyes locked on hers. “You’re safe,” she told him. “I promise. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you. Just breathe with me, okay?” She breathed slowly until he matched her rhythm.
Alex stepped away to call the OR but kept glancing back, watching the kid with an unusual softness. Arizona pressed her hand around the stabilising dressing, careful, soothing. “You’re doing amazing, Ethan. Seriously. You’re like a pro patient.”
Ethan let out a tiny, watery snort. “Didn’t… know that was a thing.”
“Oh, it’s very official,” Arizona grinned. “I would know. I’m the head of pro patients.”
“Okay,” Alex said as he stepped back in, “OR’s ready for us."
Meredith nodded, and Arizona’s expression sharpened with purpose. “Alright,” she said, “let’s move.”
They all fell into formation — Meredith at the head of the bed, Arizona at the wound, Alex steering the gurney — moving smoothly, instinctively, like parts of the same machine. Ethan squeezed Meredith’s hand once as they rolled. “Don’t… don’t leave me.”
Meredith squeezed back, steady. “I won’t,” she said. “I’m right here, and we’re going to get you through this, okay?”
He nodded, trembling. The elevator doors opened. The three of them wheeled him in, the small space suddenly filled with adrenaline and the soft, reassuring sound of Arizona’s voice. As the doors closed, Meredith glanced at Alex and Arizona and then back at Ethan.
“Let’s save this kid,” she said, as they rode up to the OR together.
The scrub room doors swung open, and Meredith stepped out still half in the headspace of the surgery. She’d barely taken two steps when she saw Addison leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, something heavy sitting behind her eyes. “Hey,” Addison said softly.
Meredith’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Hey.”
“Come with me?” Addison reached out a hand, and Meredith took it without question, letting herself be led down the hall and into a supply closet. The door clicked shut behind them. Addison didn’t speak right away. She just pulled Meredith into her, one hand sliding up the back of her neck, grounding her.
“Addie?” Meredith asked quietly.
Addison exhaled through her nose. “I have to go to New York.”
Meredith blinked. “What? When?” she pulled away to look into her face.
“Tomorrow morning.” Addison’s voice was gentle, apologetic. “There’s a TTTS case. Serious. They requested me specifically.”
Meredith processed that for a beat. “How long?”
“A couple of days,” Addison said. “Three at most. I should be back as soon as the procedure’s done and the twins are stable.”
Meredith nodded. There was sadness in her eyes—soft, quiet, resigned—but not an ounce of resistance. “Okay.”
Addison cupped her cheek, brushing her thumb along her skin. “I’m sorry. I know this week has been… a lot, and the timing is awful.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” Meredith said, leaning into the touch. “They need you. You’re the best at this. You save babies.” She swallowed. “I get it.”
Addison’s shoulders eased, but only slightly. “I still hate leaving you.”
“And I still understand,” Meredith murmured. “I’ll be fine. I’ll—” She didn’t finish. Her breath stuttered, catching in her throat in a way she couldn’t hide. Addison saw it instantly — the way Meredith’s shoulders tightened, the way she blinked like she was trying to force something back down.
“Meredith,” Addison said softly, stepping in. “Hey… look at me.” Meredith lifted her eyes, and the pain there was quiet but raw. “It’s just a couple of days,” Addison murmured, brushing a hand along Meredith’s cheek.
“I know.” Meredith’s voice wavered. “I know, I just—” She shook her head, breathing through her nose. “It’s stupid.”
“Nothing about this is stupid.”
Meredith exhaled shakily, her fingers clenching in Addison’s scrub top. “We haven’t… been apart. Not since I got back. Not more than one night shift.”
Addison’s expression broke open, all softness and grief and love threaded together. She pulled Meredith in, arms wrapping around her with no hesitation. “I know, sweetheart” she whispered into Meredith’s hair. “I know.” Addison closed her eyes, breathing in slow, steadying herself even as her heart cracked. She lifted a hand to cradle the back of Meredith’s head. “You’re allowed to be scared,” she murmured. “But you’re not going backwards and I’m not gone — I’ll just be on the other side of a stupid time zone with my phone glued to my hand.”
Meredith let out a quiet laugh against her shoulder. Addison tilted her head back just enough to cup Meredith’s face between her palms. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” she joked.
“Impossible.”
Addison smiled — a soft, heart-aching thing — and leaned in, kissing her slow and sure, grounding her the way she always did. Meredith breathed into the kiss, fingers curling into Addison’s hips like she wasn’t ready to let go.
The door swung open.
Cristina froze in the doorway, eyebrows shooting so high they nearly left her forehead. “Oh my GOD — my eyes,” she announced, deadpan but loud. “I thought this was a store room, not the soft-core romance channel.”
Meredith groaned and let her forehead fall to Addison’s shoulder. “Why,” she muttered, “does she always appear like some kind of judgmental woodland creature?”
Cristina pointed a finger at them without moving further inside. “Because you two keep making out in communal hospital spaces. Some of us are delicate. Some of us are now tainted.”
Addison snorted, not bothering to step away from Meredith. “You barged in, Yang.”
“Correction,” Cristina said, backing up a step. “I barged into what I thought was a workplace, not the set of Seattle Grace: The Honeymoon Edition. Don’t mind me. Carry on. Just let me grab a scalpel to gouge out my retinas.” She disappeared back through the doorway, muttering something about WHS violations and emotional hazards.
Meredith finally looked up at Addison, cheeks warm but amused. “We really need to stop getting caught.”
Addison smiled, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “We probably never will.”
Meredith, despite everything else waiting for her in the world outside that room, couldn’t help the small, breathy laugh that slipped out — soft, real, and just for Addison.
The house was quiet when they finally got home, the kind of quiet that felt like a held breath. Meredith didn’t say anything when Addison guided her straight to their bedroom and into the bathroom, fingers laced loosely with hers. The tub filled with steaming water, lavender curling into the air. Addison slid in first, leaning back before opening her arms in silent invitation.
Meredith stepped into her like she was stepping into gravity itself. Addison’s legs bracketing her hips, arms folding around her waist, chin settling on her shoulder like it belonged there. Meredith leaned back slowly, the warmth of Addison’s body sinking into her spine, her ribs, her lungs. The water rippled as their bodies fit together, perfectly and quietly. For a long time, they didn’t speak.
Their breaths synced without effort—like muscle memory, like instinct. Meredith felt Addison’s heartbeat against her back. She hated how much she needed it in that moment. Addison’s fingers traced lazy, thoughtful lines across her stomach —just touching her because she could. “Talk to me,” she murmured, voice soft enough that it didn’t break the calm. “Or don’t. I just… want to know where you are.”
Meredith’s breath stuttered. “I’m trying to figure that out.”
“Okay,” Addison whispered, pressing a kiss to the slope of her neck. “Take your time.”
But Meredith exhaled, long and shaky, because the truth was there whether she wanted to say it or not. She sighed, her eyes fixed on the flicker of candlelight against the tiles. “I’m just… still thinking.”
Addison’s hold tightened subtly. “About?”
Meredith hesitated. “Everything,” she whispered finally. “You being gone.”
Addison tightened her hold around her ribs, slow and grounding. “Sweetheart…” Her voice wavered—just barely. “I’m coming back.”
“I know.” Meredith swallowed. “I just… I’m gonna miss you.”
Addison smiled against her skin—sad, warm, full of affection. “I’m going to miss you too.”
She shifted, hands sliding from Meredith’s waist up her ribs, slow and coaxing. Meredith let her head fall back onto Addison’s shoulder, a soft sigh leaving her when Addison’s fingers traced the curve beneath her breast.
“Baby…”
“I’m right here,” Addison whispered, mouth touching that sensitive spot just below her ear, her breath warm. “Still yours. Even when I’m gone.”
Her hands skimmed lower again, fingertips gliding beneath the water, over slippery skin. Meredith’s breath hitched—not sharp, just a quiet intake, a surrender to the pull between them. Addison smiled against her neck, feeling it. “You sure you want to keep thinking?” she teased gently, teeth grazing the shell of Meredith’s ear.
Meredith’s hand slid up to cup the back of Addison’s neck, holding her there. “Not particularly.”
“Good.” Addison’s voice dropped to a velvet hush. “Let me help with that.” Her hand slid lower beneath the water, slow, deliberate, guiding Meredith to shift, to open for her just a little. Meredith melted instantly, instinctively, her body answering before her voice could. The sound she made when Addison’s touch found her was soft, broken, desperate.
“Addie…”
“Shh.” Addison kissed down her neck, her breath warm and steady. “Just relax.”
Her touch grew firmer, more confident, and Meredith’s back arched ever so slightly against her, water lapping at the sides of the tub. The quiet moment shifted—still soft, still intimate, but charged now, humming with the kind of closeness that made the impending goodbye feel sharper, heavier. Addison nipped lightly at her neck. “I want you to feel me,” she whispered. “Even when I’m not here.”
Meredith let out a low sound—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh, something in between—and tilted her head back fully, exposing her throat to Addison’s mouth, her hand gripping Addison’s thigh beneath the water. “Addison…”
“I’ve got you,” Addison murmured, slow and sure, her fingers moving with purpose. “Always.” The bathwater rippled around them as Meredith melted back into her, into the moment, into the only place she felt safe enough to let everything else fall away.
Chapter Text
Cristina slid up beside Meredith at the nurse’s station like a wolf assessing wounded prey. “Wow,” she said, eyes sweeping Meredith’s face. “She’s been gone mere hours and you look like something the cat coughed up.”
Meredith didn’t look up from her chart. “No I don’t.”
Cristina leaned in and made a dramatic sniffing noise. “Are you sure? Because the air around you is giving… emotional decay.” She squinted, and waved around her nose, “Have you even showered?”
Meredith snapped the chart closed with enough force to make a passing intern flinch. “You’re not even half as funny as you think you are.”
“You’re touchy.” Cristina smirked. “Is it because Addison isn’t here to—” she gestured explicitly, “—handle you today?”
Meredith squinted. “Can you not be gross for one minute?”
“I’m bored,” Cristina said brightly. “and you’re fragile, and watching you suffer is enriching. Like one of those sad zoo animals with a ball.”
“Wonderful,” Meredith muttered, hooking an arm through hers and pulling her away from the desk before she could escalate purely for sport. “Come on. Coffee. I’m scrubbing in on Mark’s hypopharynx reconstruction later and he’s in one of those moods where he wants to… connect.”
Cristina’s whole face wrinkled. “Disgusting. Is he going to talk about Little Grey again?”
“And Thatcher,” Meredith groaned. “It’s a two-for-one special.”
Cristina hummed thoughtfully. “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”
Meredith stopped mid-step. “With you and Teddy?”
Cristina shrugged. “Yeah. You’re alone and pathetic. We can fix that.”
Meredith eyed her cautiously. “Do we have to share a bed?”
Cristina’s smirk was all teeth. “Obviously. That’s where the fun is.”
Meredith barked a laugh. Her pager went off, sharp and insistent. “Pit,” she muttered, already turning toward the stairs.
“Later?” Cristina called, veering off toward the elevators.
“Yeah,” Meredith called back, jogging away, “I’ll bring the trauma, you bring the judgment.”
Meredith rounded the corner into the ER and nearly collided with Derek. “Hey,” she said, breath steady. “What’ve we got?”
Derek handed her the chart, jaw grim. She skimmed it, eyebrows lifting. “Caldwell? As in… the prison?”
"Oh my God," April breathed.
Meredith didn’t spare her a look. Derek didn’t either. Richard appeared, expression like storm clouds. “You all read up on the VIP?” They nodded. “Good. Multiple stab wounds, severe blunt-force trauma. He’s coming in with guards, and the cuffs stay on at all times. Am I clear?” More nods. Derek’s mouth formed a tight, angry line. “No interns,” he added. “Just you two and your residents.” Richard’s pager went off; he checked it, exhaled. “He’s here. Move. Get him through the ER fast—less attention, less chaos.”
As they hurried toward the doors, Kepner skimmed the chart again. “Um—what’s PDR? Sir? What’s… PDR?”
Richard gave her a look that made her visibly shrink. “Prisoner.” He turned toward the ambulance bay, voice dropping. “Death row.”
“Trauma series,” Meredith ordered, hands moving with crisp efficiency over the man’s battered torso. “And add T-spine and L-spine. He’s got radiating leg pain.”
“We’re getting a CT,” Derek cut in, not bothering to look at her as he worked on the deep blunt-force wound. “Extra films are pointless.”
Meredith’s eyes flicked to him—sharp, puzzled. “Extra shots won’t kill anyone.”
The patient groaned, voice rasped raw. “I feel like I’ve been stabbed. Why does everything burn?”
“The less you talk,” Derek growled, “the faster we can fix you.” The room stilled. Even the monitors seemed quieter for a beat.
“Derek.” Meredith’s tone was low, warning.
The patient huffed a shaky laugh, breath rattling in his chest. “It’s fine. He’ll warm up to me.” His eyes slid to Meredith, too calm for a man on the table, a smile pulling at the corner of his lip like he enjoyed saying it.
Derek snapped the oxygen mask onto his face with barely controlled force. “Don’t push it,” he muttered.
Meredith watched him—really watched him. The tightness in his jaw. The raw, unshielded anger in his blue eyes when they met hers. Pain. Fury. Something colder underneath. For a moment she wondered what it was about this patient—this shackled, bloodied man—that made Derek Shepherd, king of calm precision, look like he was one breath away from breaking.
“Dr. Shepherd,” Shane said, frowning as he checked the monitors, “he’s still in a lot of pain.”
“Maybe we should take him off the backboard?” Kepner offered brightly, far too eager. Derek gave a dismissive shrug that made her falter.
“We wait for x-rays,” Meredith said, fixing April with a look. “If he’s losing sensation, moving him could finish the job.”
“So he claims,” Derek muttered. “He’ll say anything.”
“Did you push morphine?” Meredith asked April. When she got a nod, she looked over at Derek. “He shouldn’t still be in this much pain.”
“We’re wasting time,” Derek snapped, arms folding tight across his chest. Tension radiated off him like static.
“We need the films,” Meredith said, tone quiet but immovable. The residents hovered, caught in the thrum of something sharp and unspoken brewing between the attendings.
“Dr. Grey?” A tech hurried in and handed her a folder.
Meredith put the films on the light board immediately. “Dr. Shepherd,” she said without looking back, waiting until she felt Derek at her shoulder. She pointed at the foreign mass lodged between vertebrae. Her voice dropped. “Whatever he was stabbed with… it’s still inside him.”
“In his back?” Shane leaned in.
“In his spine,” Derek said through clenched teeth.
April squinted. “What is that?”
“Toothbrush,” Derek and Meredith said at the same time. “Probably,” Meredith added.
From the bed came a burst of laughter—low, amused, wrong. April startled. “Does that mean I’m paralysed?” the man asked, turning his head until his eyes found Meredith. “If I am… my lawyer might get my execution stayed.” Meredith glanced at Derek. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle trembled. “Think you could let me be paralysed, doc?” the man asked, smile too wide, too knowing.
Derek’s eyes met Meredith’s—icy, empty, frighteningly calm. “No.”
“Everything by the book,” Derek said, voice clipped as he addressed the residents. “Do not—under any circumstances—give anyone a reason to keep him alive.”
Shane and April nodded and stepped out. As the door shut, the room felt heavier. Meredith leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Want to tell me what that was?” Silence. “We don’t even know what he did,” she pressed. “We don’t get to judge him.”
Derek finally looked at her—exhausted, haunted. “Just keep me posted,” he said quietly.
“I’m not your resident,” Meredith muttered.
He rolled his eyes and brushed past her, leaving a cold draft in his wake. Meredith watched him go, unsettled. Then she turned to the blinds, lifting two fingers to peer into the trauma bay where the patient lay, laughing softly to himself. A voice behind her: “So… is this your killer?” Cristina slid next to her, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“I don’t know what he is,” Meredith murmured. “But he’s still a person.”
Cristina snorted. “You’ve got the warm-and-fuzzies for a murderer. You’re seriously broken.”
Meredith didn’t bother rising to the bait this time. She exhaled slowly, gaze lingering on the man lying unconscious on the gurney—not as a criminal, not as a headline, but as a patient under her care. Her hands had stabilised him. Her choices would determine whether he walked out of here alive. “It’s not warm-and-fuzzies,” she muttered, finally pulling her eyes away. “It’s the job.”
She stepped into the hall beside Cristina, but the weight of it followed her—settling in her ribs, pressing between her shoulder blades. She didn’t like him. She didn’t excuse him. But she had taken an oath, and it meant something. Even when it was uncomfortable. Even when it was infuriating. Even when the world would call it naïve.
Meredith walked on, jaw tight, that quiet, unwelcome throb of responsibility tugging at her—not for the man he was, but for the life in her hands she was sworn not to harm.
Meredith was hunched at the nurse’s station when Mark found her, head in her hands. “Oh—” she jumped to her feet. “I forgot.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “What? You got a better offer or something?”
“Or something,” she sighed. “I’m sorry, Mark. I can’t scrub in.”
He studied her for a beat—slumped shoulders, exhausted eyes, tension coiled tight. His expression softened. “It’s fine, Grey.” He backed away, smirking. “I’ll just cry to Addison that you blew me off.”
Meredith’s eyes shot wide. Mark barked out a laugh as he disappeared around the corner. Interns nearby whispered behind their hands. Meredith glared, dropped back into her chair, and vowed retribution later.
A chart slammed onto the desk in front of her. “MRI,” Derek muttered, jaw tight. “He’s got brain contusions.” He didn’t meet her eyes. Didn’t need to—his entire posture radiated fury.
Meredith rested her cheek against her knuckles, watching him without speaking. He looked… hollow. Like something was eating him alive from the inside. Before she could say anything, April appeared at Derek's side. “He’s still in significant pain, Dr. Shepherd.” She flicked a glance at Meredith, “Can I give him more morphine?”
“No.” Derek didn’t even look up. “He’s had enough.”
“Derek,” Meredith said quietly. “He has a foreign body in his spine. Not treating that level of pain—it's inhumane.”
“Killing people is inhumane,” he snapped, slamming the chart shut. The sound echoed as he turned and strode away, but Meredith was already on her feet, already moving.
“Derek!” She caught his coat sleeve just before he hit the stairwell. “What is wrong with you?”
He turned sharply, stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets like he needed something to hold himself together. “We watch people die every day,” he said, voice rising, roughened by something raw. “Every damn day. And I have to face their families. Look them in the eyes and tell them their person isn’t coming home.”
His breath shook. His anger didn’t. “Every day, we fight like hell to stop that from happening,” he continued. “And we lose. Again and again. But someone like him?” He spat a bitter laugh. “He throws life away like it’s nothing. Like it never meant anything. Like it’s worthless.”
“Derek—”
“No morphine, Dr. Grey.” The words were final, cold. He walked off before she could respond, his anger rolling down the corridor long after he disappeared. Meredith stood alone in the hallway, pulse racing, the echo of his fury settling into something heavy and unsettling in her chest.
Meredith was slumped over the ER desk, staring at a chart she wasn’t actually reading when a paper cup slid into her line of sight. She blinked up. Mark stood there, holding a second cup for himself, expression unusually soft. “You look like you could use that,” he said.
She took it gratefully. “Thanks.”
He leaned a hip against the desk, voice low so the bustling ER wouldn’t hear. “You missed a good hypopharynx reconstruction,” he said. “We used the radial forearm flap. Sexy stuff.”
Meredith snorted, tired but amused. “Sorry again.”
He waved it off. “Grey, it’s fine. I can guilt you about it forever if I want.” They shared a quiet sip. Then his eyes flicked to hers, something knowing settling there. “I heard about your VIP.”
Meredith’s grip tightened on the cup. “Has Derek been complaining about me?”
Mark went still for a moment. Not guilty, not evasive—just thoughtful, like he was carefully choosing which version of the truth to hand her. Finally he nodded toward the ambulance bay. “Walk with me?”
She frowned. “Why do you sound like you’re about to tell me someone’s dog died?”
“Just come on.” His voice was too gentle to argue with.
Curiosity — and a gnawing sense of dread — pushed her to follow him. They slipped out the ER doors, the blast of cold air hitting her immediately. The ambulance bay was quiet, an empty rig idling nearby, lights clicking as it cooled. Mark shoved his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead. “Derek’s… carrying something,” he began. “This case is hitting him harder than you think.”
Meredith watched him cautiously. “Okay,” she said, it was almost a question.
Mark let out a slow breath, the kind people release before they say something they really don’t want to say. “When Derek was a kid,” he said quietly, “his father—his dad—was shot in front of him. Robbery gone bad. One second he had a father, the next he didn’t. Derek watched it happen. Watched him bleed out on the floor.” The cold around them suddenly felt colder. Mark continued, voice even lower. “His whole life has been built around fighting death because he couldn’t fight that one. Cases like this?” He shook his head. “People who choose violence? They drag him back there, whether he wants it or not.”
Meredith swallowed hard. “I understand,” she said slowly. “But it doesn’t make the patient less human either. I have to treat him like any other person on that table.”
Mark didn’t argue. Didn’t try to convince her otherwise. He just gave a small, sad smile. “That’s why you’re good at this, Meredith.”
She looked out into the darkened bay, the hum of the hospital behind them, thinking about a boy watching his father die… and a man strapped to a gurney, laughing through pain, waiting for an execution date.
Both human.
Both broken in different ways.
Mark nudged her shoulder gently. “Just… go easy on him, okay? He’s not being an ass because of you.”
Meredith nodded, voice soft. “I know.” But the weight in her chest lingered. Because understanding Derek didn’t erase the truth she held inside: she still had to capacity to care — even if no one else wanted to see him as worth saving.
Teddy was standing at the counter, sorting labs, but the second Meredith stepped inside the exam room, she caught the look on her face and stilled. “Hey,” Teddy said softly. “You look… wrung out.”
Meredith huffed out something that was almost a laugh, dropping into one of the chairs with a heavy, graceless exhale. She leaned forward, forearms braced on her knees, hair escaping the tie at the back of her neck. “Yeah,” she murmured. “That’d be about right.”
Teddy set the labs aside and eased onto the chair opposite her, not close enough to crowd, but close enough to anchor. “I heard you have a rough case.”
Meredith dragged a hand over her face. “It’s not even just the case itself. It’s…” She stopped, searching for a point to start from. “Sometimes it feels like we’re being asked to pour everything we have into people the world sees as… disposable, and we have to do it anyway.”
Teddy didn’t respond immediately. She just let the silence breathe. Meredith swallowed. “He’s a prisoner. He killed someone. Maybe more than one someone. I don’t—” She shook her head. “I don’t get to know, and I don’t get to care. I just have to save him. I have to fight for him...and he might live, Teddy. He might get to walk out of here, while the twenty-five-year-old we just coded didn’t.”
The words cracked a little at the end. Not quite crying — Meredith didn’t crack open easily — but the strain was visible. Teddy’s expression softened with a familiar, haunted kind of understanding. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know that one.”
Meredith looked up.
“My two deployments were spent stitching up men who planted IEDs that killed kids,” Teddy said quietly. “And if they lived long enough to make it back into custody, sometimes they walked. Sometimes they traded intel and got deals. Meanwhile, I lost soldiers who’d done everything right. Soldiers I knew, loved.” Her voice tightened, but she kept going. “You were there, you saw it. We learn real fast that justice and outcome aren’t linked. Not in war. Not in medicine.”
Meredith exhaled shakily. “How do we not… break from that?”
“I did break,” Teddy said simply. “Everyone does. The trick isn’t staying whole — it’s learning where to put the pieces after.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees in a mirror of Meredith’s posture. “You keep going because someone has to. Because this job can’t be done by people who only treat those they think ‘deserve’ it. That’s not medicine. That’s judgment.”
Meredith’s eyes flickered, wet but steady. “Derek doesn’t see him as human. I can feel it, and part of me gets it. But I can’t treat him that way.”
“And that,” Teddy said firmly, “is why you’re good at this. Why you’re dangerously good at this.”
“Dangerously?”
“Because you care enough to let it hurt, and you’re stubborn enough not to stop caring.” Her voice gentled. “But you also have to learn when to let it go, Meredith. You saved who you could today. That is all any of us can do.”
Meredith let out a long, controlled breath, nodding slowly. “I just… needed someone to say that.”
“I know,” Teddy said, reaching out and briefly squeezing Meredith’s hand — steady, grounding. “That’s why I’m here.”
They sat like that for a moment — two surgeons, two women who’d seen too much, sharing the kind of silence that only exists between people who understand the cost of compassion.
Dr. Wyatt glanced up, surprise flickering across her face when Meredith appeared in the doorway. “Meredith,” she said gently. “We didn’t have an appointment scheduled.”
“I know.” Meredith’s voice was thin, tight. “I… I just needed—” She shook her head. Words weren’t landing the way they were supposed to.
“Come in,” Dr. Wyatt said. “Close the door.”
Meredith did, and the soft click of it seemed to unravel something inside her. She sank into the chair like her bones couldn’t hold her up anymore.
Wyatt waited a beat. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Meredith let out a sharp exhale. “Addison’s gone.”
Dr. Wyatt’s brows lifted. “Gone?”
“She’s in New York. For a case. But it’s—” Her throat tightened. “It feels like too far. Too much. Too soon.” Meredith dragged a hand through her hair. “I know that sounds pathetic. I’m not supposed to fall apart because my fiancée has to save lives but it’s the first time we’ve been apart since I got back and I—” She broke off, breath shaking. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Wyatt said calmly. “It’s attachment. It’s safety. She’s been your anchor.”
Meredith swallowed hard, eyes burning. “She’s the first thing that’s felt… solid. Real, and now she’s not here and everything feels louder. Sharper.” She shook her head again, blinking fast. “I can’t have this reaction today. I can’t afford to.”
“Why today?”
Meredith’s jaw flexed. A long silence stretched. Finally, she said, “I’m working a case. A guy on death row. He’s scheduled to be executed in two weeks.” Her voice wavered, anger and grief braided together. “He’s a murderer. There’s no question, and I have to save his life.”
Wyatt didn’t respond immediately. She let the words settle like dust.
“and I’ve done it before,” Meredith continued, the words spilling faster, rawer. “I’ve saved violent men. Men who’ve hurt people. Men who—” She broke, inhaling sharply. “When I was taken… when I was held in Iraq… they made me operate on them. On their people. I had to save them.” Her hands started to shake. She pressed them together hard. “They killed people,” Meredith whispered. “Civilians. Americans soldiers. I don’t know how many. But they put a gun to my back and if I didn’t do everything I could to keep them alive, they would've killed me too.”
Her breath hitched, and Dr. Wyatt leaned forward just slightly — not enough to crowd, just enough to be steady.
“I tell myself I did it because I had to. Because I wanted to live.” Meredith’s voice cracked. She dragged in a breath that shuddered on the way out. “and now here I am again. Saving someone who took lives. Only now I don’t have a gun to my head. It’s just… my job.” Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “I don’t know how to do it without feeling like I’m betraying someone, even if it’s the right thing to do.”
Wyatt let the silence stretch, deliberate and safe. “Meredith,” she said softly, “you know that medicine doesn’t ask you to judge someone’s worth. It asks you to care. To do what you can. To treat the body in front of you, not the actions behind it.”
“I know,” Meredith rasped. “I know all the lines. All the rules. But I can still feel their hands on me. I can still hear them shouting. I can still see the blood and the dirt and the—” Her voice cut off. She stared down at her shaking hands. “I don’t want it to be the same thing. But it feels the same.”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “Because your body remembers fear even when your mind knows you’re safe.”
Meredith looked up, eyes shimmering. “How am I supposed to do this?”
“You breathe,” Wyatt said. “You anchor. You let yourself feel what you’re feeling instead of fighting it and you remember that doing your job doesn’t put you back in that place. It doesn’t undo your healing. It doesn’t erase what you survived.”
Meredith let out a trembling breath.
“Addison not being here doesn’t mean you’re alone again,” Wyatt added gently. Meredith’s lips parted, like she hadn’t realised how deeply she’d tied those two fears together. “You’ve built more than one anchor,” Wyatt said. “You have more than one place to land.”
Meredith blinked, tears finally slipping free. “I hate that it still gets to me,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t make you weak,” Wyatt said. “It makes you human.”
Cristina opened the apartment door before Meredith even finished knocking twice. “You look terrible,” she announced. “Good. Come in.” Meredith rolled her eyes, stepping inside. Teddy peeked out from the kitchen with two mugs of tea.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You look tired”
“That’s one word.” Meredith exhaled, dropping her bag by the couch. She rubbed her forehead. “Today was… a lot.”
Cristina appeared beside her at lightning speed, thrusting a blanket at her. “Okay, feelings circle. But horizontal. I refuse to stand up for sadness.”
Teddy smiled faintly. “We were about to start a movie in bed. Come join.”
Meredith nodded, grateful and tired in that deep, bone-level way. “Yeah. Okay.”
Cristina sprawled in the middle like she’d claimed territory. Meredith slid into one side, Teddy on the other, blankets piled high. The room was dim, soft. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then Teddy’s voice broke the quiet, soft, concerned. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Meredith stared at the ceiling. “He killed someone. Multiple someones, and Derek—” Her chest tightened. “Derek was awful in the OR. He was so angry. So judgmental. Like saving him made me complicit.”
Cristina scoffed instantly. “Oh please. Derek thinks his moral outrage is a charming personality trait.” Teddy shot her a look but Meredith let out a quiet, painful laugh.
“I hated it,” Meredith whispered. “The whole time. Not the work, just… the way it felt. It reminded me of there. Of being forced to save people who—who hurt so many. Who hurt our people.” Her voice wavered. “It felt like that again.”
Teddy shifted, “That makes sense. Trauma echoes. Even when you’re safe.”
Cristina made a disgruntled noise. “Okay, no. We are not going down the trauma Tunnel of Doom right now.”
Teddy arched a brow. “Cristina—”
“No,” Cristina insisted, sitting up like a drill sergeant in pyjamas. “Meredith gets, like, five minutes of vulnerability and then we change the subject because I did not invite her here to cry in our bed and then snore.”
“I don’t snore,” Meredith muttered.
“You absolutely snore,” Cristina said. “It’s tiny and pathetic. Like a little broken accordion.”
“Wow,” Meredith groaned, burying her face in her pillow. “Thanks.”
Teddy was trying not to laugh. “You’re very comforting, Cristina.”
“I am!” Cristina insisted. “Watch this.” She scooted down between them, slapped a hand onto each of their foreheads, and said: “You are both disasters. But you are my disasters, and tonight we are doing self-care.”
Meredith blinked. “Cristina, that was—”
“Don’t,” Cristina warned. “Don’t make it emotional. I’ll suffocate you with this pillow.”
Teddy smiled softly. “So what’s the plan then? Movie?”
“No,” Cristina said decisively. “Gossip.”
Meredith snorted. “About who?”
Cristina lit up. “Well. For starters… Kepner and Avery are definitely in a situationship.”
Both Meredith and Teddy turned their heads toward her at the same time. “What?” they said in unison.
Cristina looked smug. “Exactly. Now this is healing.”
Meredith laughed — real, warm, light — the heaviness in her chest easing. Teddy eyed her from the other side of the bed. “Feeling a bit better?”
Meredith nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah. Actually… yeah.”
Cristina clapped once. “Good. Because I will only emotionally support one of you at a time and right now it’s Meredith’s turn.” Teddy rolled her eyes. The three of them settled deeper into the blankets, shoulders brushing, warmth spreading in that wordless way that only comes from people who have earned each other.
Cristina sighed dramatically. “Meredith, if you start spooning me, I’m leaving.”
Meredith smirked. “You’re in the middle. You’re literally my default little spoon.”
“Unacceptable,” Cristina declared, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Now shut up. We have gossip to get through and I need both of you conscious.”
Meredith sighed, leaning back into the pillow feeling…..safe. Home-adjacent. Full of banter and friendship and the kind of care she could actually survive. The night settled around them soft and warm, and for the first time since Addison had left, Meredith felt her lungs loosen.
Cristina let out a sigh. “Okay. First topic: Hunt is being weird,” and the room cracked open with laughter.
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