"He Didn't Ask"
by Bleu
Warning: Quite dark, definitely rated Don't-Read-if-You're-Squeamish.
She had wondered, the first time they made love, if he would notice.
Anything.
He kissed her on the porch. With effort.
It was then that panic first fluttered in her chest.
His mouth felt different. His technique, for lack of better word, was the same, but as she listened to the rain on the tin awning of the trailer and felt the warm spray on her outward-turned right cheek, she couldn't help but notice the mouth against hers was unfamiliar.
She decided, when he stood and offered her a hand, that it was from being away from him for so long.
When she put her hand in his, and let him lead her into the bedroom, she chalked the intensifying thump of her heart to generally the same thing. It would go away, the nervousness and anxiety, once they got back into their groove.
As he eased the sweater over her head, she noticed he wasn't looking in her eyes.
At first she thought it was odd, but then, as she focused on undoing the zipper of his pants, she remembered Derek had never looked at her during. His eyes were usually shut, the more she thought about it. It had been Mark, not Derek, who had demanded that one thing from her—if ever her eyes would drift shut, for whatever reason, he would put his mouth right against her ear and amongst sticky, shallow breaths, gruffly whisper, "Look at me, Addison.".
She had hated it. Mostly because it was hard for her to do, and she knew it shouldn't have been.
But in that moment when Derek closed his eyes and kissed her, she missed it.
When he—they—were finally naked, she had her first flashes of familiarity. The structural lines, sinewy arcs, and fading scars were all ones she'd seen before. She took a moment, as he held himself up over her, to run her hands along them.
One scar, from a chicken pock, that wasn't noticeable she imagined to anyone but her, winked at her from above his eyebrow. When she ran her fingers across it lovingly, he pulled away, ever so slightly. Without blinking, she brought her hand down.
It wasn't until she actually felt the weight, the pressure in her body that she wondered if he would notice.
Anything.
Mark had.
She realized now that if he hadn't, she probably wouldn't have told him.
The blood had tipped him off right away. Because he was Mark, an obsessive memorizer of cycles and perceptive to even the slightest changes—a quality necessary to a surgeon of any kind, particularly plastic—he knew she wasn't having her period.
"Mark, don't." she had edged out of his grasp, but only a few inches. Not far enough.
"What is that, Addison?" he had asked, not shifting from his position. His unoccupied arm was wound around her waist from the side, holding her. Not letting go, either.
"I'm…spotting."
"Why?" he asked, panic palpable in his voice. He was probably thinking polyps, or cancer.
"I started new birth control." She lied, slightly disconcerted as to how easy it was. He swallowed, and removed his other hand slowly from the waist band of her sweatpants. The poor lighting in the room didn't hide the reddish tint on his fingertips.
She remained rigid, lying on her back, and he rolled back to his side and mirrored her position.
However, as she kept her eyes fixated on the ceiling and tried to follow the weaving pattern of texture, he remained fixated on her. For a long moment, she didn't dare even breathe or move, and she definitely didn't dare to meet his gaze.
It took one question to break her trance.
"Which one?" he asked, skepticism stinging her ears. With that, she jerked herself from the bed.
"If it bothers you that much, let me take a shower." Before she could get a step away, he grabbed her wrist.
"Hey, it's fine." He said, still confused and becoming more wary. She didn't want him to be touching her, or even looking at her. The blood had been an excuse for the shower she really wanted to take, and never get out of.
She had taken four that afternoon before he got home, each time huddling under the scalding spray until it went icy, and then even longer after that, until her skin numbed over and it didn't do any good.
But in that moment, with his eyes on her and the sticky wetness between her legs, she felt filthy.
She let him pull her back into bed anyway.
She even let him undress her, touch her. She participated, weakly, and even though he noticed, he didn't stop the progression. He was noticeably gentler, though, and after a while, her eyes slid shut.
And she didn't think of it, until she felt the familiar nudge against her cheek with his mouth and the raspy words, "Look at me, Addison."
She reacted instinctively, turning her head upward to meet his eyes, and as she did, and he pressed into her, she gasped, and a warm flood of involuntary tears blossomed in her eyes and pooled in the corners.
The blood gave him pause. The tears stopped him dead.
"Addison? What's going on?" he demanded, lifting himself off of her. Panicky, she quickly swiped at the tears.
"Nothing, nothing. Don't…stop…just…keep going." She pressed her nails into his bare ribs, pulling him closer, but he didn't budge.
At first.
She didn't realize his intention, until it was too late.
Instead of reassuming his previous activity, he used his hands.
And that was when he knew.
"When?" his voice pierced her from the darkness a full ten minutes later, after he had moved far enough away so that not one part of their bodies were touching. So far, in fact, that she couldn't even feel the heat of his skin and blood.
She swallowed. With effort. She could have lied. She could have avoided it. But she couldn't deny it.
"Yesterday." Was her morose reply.
Another long silence.
"Aside from the spotting, are you experiencing any other complications?"
She didn't remark on the oddity of the question. She simply answered.
"No."
"How do you think it happened?" he asked thoughtfully, still not touching her. It seemed like he wanted a certain answer, but she couldn't think of what it could be. Or she didn't want to think of it.
"I missed three pills last month." She replied dully. More than that, really. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment.
During the next tension filled minutes, she pressed her eyes together and thought, Wait for it…
With effort she could feel in his fingers, Mark took her hand in the darkness.
Wait for it…
"You should have told me." He murmured, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "You shouldn't have gone through it alone. Even when you don't want it…it's still not easy."
With that, he wound his arm around her waist again, easing her close and cradling her head in the crook between his head and shoulder.
He was acting more understanding, forgiving, and compassionate than she imagined any man in the universe would have.
But as she drifted to sleep, she felt the undercurrent of tension that was balled in every corner of every muscle of his body, and the rapid pounding of his heart.
He was playing it off cool, but inside he was burning.
She knew that feeling.
She knew exactly what he wanted to ask. The question that was pulling him tighter and tighter inside, and she imagined would eventually snap and explode from his chest.
Why?
It didn't come that night, or the night after that, or the next week, or the next month.
It took a whole year.
Okay, so I'm aware this will be the first of many following the whole Mark/Addison/baby drama storyline, but…I couldn't help myself. I hope you enjoyed it…if that's possible?