Chapter Text
Dr Turner is silent until Addison sits down, squinting slightly.
She clears her throat, "Okay, my colour correction isn't that bad."
"I was looking at your lip, actually." Dr Turner corrects.
Embarrassment. She brushes a thumb against it, fingertip touching the thick scab, "Right."
Dr Turner pouts, "Are you okay, Addison?"
She has to remind herself that lying is counter-intuitive to the point of therapy. She deflects instead, "You should see the other guy."
"You got into a fight?"
She rubs a thumb over the bruises on her knuckles thinly concealed by foundation that doesn't quite match, "Did you know Washington's a mutual combat state? New York & Connecticut aren't, which doesn't surprise me but... Washington. Of all places."
"You got into a fight." Dr Turner sighs.
"I... Yeah. I did."
Dr Turner smiles sympathetically - Addison knows on a basic, intellectual level that it's out of empathy and respect but she can't help but see pity while her throat burns, "What happened?"
"The team wanted to get drinks after work. Some guy was giving Mered- sorry, Grey - a hard time. Things escalated."
"Did he attack her?"
"No, I uh... threw a drink in his face. That I had lit. He was fireproof but his eyebrows sure weren't."
"Addison-"
"I know. I - I tried not to at first. I just wanted him to go away and leave her alone. I didn't care when he was insulting me but when he started saying things about her I-"
"You saw red."
Addison chuckles, "Something like that."
Dr Turner leans forward, "So you felt the need to protect Grey? Why?"
Addison sighs, "I don't know, I think... I think it's just that she's better than me."
"A better hero?"
"A better person. She spends every day running into burning buildings and taking bullets for other people. She puts herself at risk constantly and as much as it annoys me I can't help but... admire it. She doesn't have to do this - by all rights she probably shouldn't; she doesn't have powers. But she does it anyway. Because she's selfless."
"Do you think you're a good person?"
She swallows, "...I lit a glass of whiskey on fire and threw it in a man's face, Dr Turner."
"He was fireproof. You knew that he was fireproof."
Addison looks down at her hands; she traces the scars over her fingers. She doesn't respond.
"Addison, you dedicated the last fifteen years of your life to helping others in danger. You've done a lot of good."
She's also paid the hospital bills of every villain she's ever burned because she used to lie awake at night with an agonising weight in her chest. Except that last one, anyway. She burnt herself just as much.
Dr Turner sighs, massaging her temples, "Okay - sore spot, I get it... Do you think that your feelings about Grey might be influenced by your sexual relationship?"
Addison scoffs, "What? No! I'm a professional, I am perfectly capable of separating business and pleasure."
"But you didn't at the bar?"
Addison sighs, "...It wasn't a good day."
"Why not?"
She fiddles in her seat, scratching the back of her neck, "I just - I didn't sleep well. I lit the bed on fire. Again."
"We can reevaluate your prescription, Addison but I think that we should really try to get to the root cause of your sleeping problems."
"But that's the thing, I don't really have sleeping problems, I sleep fine. I go to bed, I fall asleep, I wake up... well rested enough. I think? The issue is every other night I'm having nightmares about the smell of burning flesh and I wake up to my smoke alarm going off." Too deep, make a joke, "Maybe I should get sprinklers installed."
Dr Turner nods slowly, "What was this most recent nightmare about?"
Addison shrugs, "They're... they're all the same, what do you want from me? I'm on fire, I can't breathe- wait, no. This one was different."
"How so?"
"There was someone else there. In the distance. I tried to reach for her but I was stuck and she disintegrated before I could even touch her."
"Her?"
Addison nods.
"Who was it? The woman in your nightmare?"
She thinks of hands. The manicured fingers that used to smack hers when she said something "unladylike", the palms that used to roam her body, extinguishing the fire inside her and the knuckles she's wrapped and dressed more times than she can count. She tries to picture the woman in her dream again, her imagination making her turn around.
Addison shrugs, "I'm not sure. I know that I knew her but I couldn't see her face."
Dr Turner sighs, nodding slowly, "Have you ever tried image rehearsal therapy before, Addison?"
"Can't say that I have."
Dr Turner's eyes flick upwards to the clock Addison knows hangs on the wall above her head. She sees Dr Turner begin to pout.
Dr Turner stands to grab a document off her desk, "Image rehearsal therapy is a technique we use to reduce the frequency or intensity of nightmares-" She sits back down on the chair opposite Addison, handing her the document. "You write down the nightmare you keep getting in as much detail as possible and then we work together to rewrite them."
"Rewrite them?"
"Give them a different, more anticlimactic ending. One that won't put you into such a heightened state that you use your powers."
Addison nods.
"Look, normally this first part - writing down the sensory details of the nightmare - would be done with me as well. However, we're almost out of time and I trust you to be able to do this on your own. If you want to save it for next week, though-"
"No! I'm sorry - uh - no. It's fine. I can do it. Don't worry."
Dr Turner presses her lips together in a thin line. She nods, "Alright. But if you start triggering yourself stop, okay?"
Addison hums. She looks behind her as the clock ticks to the end of the hour. She gets up and walks to the door.
"Bye, Dr Turner."
"Be kind to yourself, Addison."
Addison looks down as she walks through the offices of Bayside Wellness Group, trying her hardest to blur the names and titles painted on glass doors out of her peripheral vision. She fails, reading Jake Reilly, M.D. F.A.C.O.G. next to a closing door and feeling her heart tighten in a vice. She clenches scarred fists made for violence and curses herself for ever being deluded enough into thinking those hands could heal instead. She slams the door of her car shut when she enters it, hitting her forehead against the steering wheel and choking back the sobs that try to wrack her chest.
When she arrives at the office it's suspiciously quiet. She gingerly sits at her desk, shooting Teddy a questioning look. Teddy shrugs.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approach as a black-clad figure enters her peripheral, "Hey, Monty!"
She looks up to meet flaming orange eyes with scorched, patchy brows, Addison tenses.
Molotov laughs, "Relax, you burnt off my fuckin' eyebrows. Game recognises game, you maniac. We're all good, I'll steer clear of you and your little girlfriend."
"She's not my girl-"
"I don't care what you call each other while you're scissoring, Monty. Anyway, boss man wants to see you."
"What?"
Molotov waves a hand dismissively, sashaying away, "Good luck. You're gonna need it."
Richard is glaring at her when she opens the door, hands clasped together over his desk as his brows are furrowed. His eyes flick between Addison and a piece of paper on his desk.
"What did you do?"
She rubs at her eyes and realises her mistake when she sees the foundation that has smudged onto her fingertips - she stutters, "I-"
"Addison." Richard warns.
Shame. For a moment she feels small. Fragile. She's back to being the girl who looked over the edge and wondered what was on the other side. She looks into Richard's unblinking eyes and feels an unnatural chill work its way through her body as she finds herself overwhelmed with lethargy, sinking into the chair.
"Can I stop or are you going to set my desk on fire?" He asks - eyebrows raised in concern.
"You know how I feel when you use your powers, Richard." She wheezes.
He breaks eye contact. Supernatural heat re-enters her chest and Addison regains sensation in her extremities. Richard sighs, he turns the document for Addison to read.
*INCIDENT 249-F: Reported by Ben Warren (Human Resources).
At a third-party location (Joe's Bar) after work, I witnessed the tail end of a brawl between the B-Team (excluding Dispatcher Hahn) and the G-Team (Including Dispatcher Montgomery) before all parties were removed from the premises. Eye-witness accounts at the scene seemed to be divided in identifying the instigator. For recorded injuries related to this incident, see Report 249-F-II.
Richard clears his throat, "You and the team are all suspended with-"
"What? No!"
"Addison-"
"No, Richard - you can't do this. The team - they did nothing wrong!"
"Grey got a boxer's fracture, Phantom broke his nose, Brightburn-"
She stands - she feels her blood begin to boil before she looks into his eyes and her body goes cold again. She shakes her head in defiance.
"They were defending me, Richard! The only reason they were even remotely involved was because I was about to get my ass handed to me and everyone could see it!"
Richard blinks - his eyes widen as Addison's fingertips regain warmth, "You started it."
Addison is silent.
"Addison."
No response.
"What were you thinking, Addie?! You started a fight in public with multiple heroes that work for us! You could've seriously injured someone, it's a miracle you're not being charged with battery!"
"Richard, I-"
"Sit down, Addison."
She acquiesces. She thinks of cocktail shakers and the way her father's scotch would burn her throat when he wasn't looking.
Richard sighs, "What is going on with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"This! Arguing with your team over calls, setting tables on fire because you can't keep your cool, starting fights, the bitterness, the anger! It's like you've become a different person, Addison."
A gut-punch. She inhales slowly before speaking in the attempt to centre herself. It doesn't work, "Richard, you saved my life and I'll always be grateful for that but because you did I'm here. Where my life has slipped through my fingers like sand and I barely have a reason to get up in the morning because I'm thirty-seven, alone and burnt to shit with nothing to show for it! I'm a failure, Richard, and you're the reason I even tried. I get that Antibody wasn't all you had so I can't expect you to understand but without Red Rocket I am nothing, Richard. I stay awake at night because I don't know what my favourite colour is and I barely feel like a real person!"
Richard softens, "Okay. You've had a hard time. I get it. But you assaulted a man."
"Richard-"
"Take a week. Relax - figure out what your favourite colour is, try to feel more like a real person, take care of yourself. Teddy will lead the team while you're gone."
"What?"
"Officially, you're suspended with pay pending investigation. Unofficially, I'm making you practice self-care for once in your life."
She's too stunned to speak. Richard sighs, standing up from the desk and walking around to the other side, leaning against the edge of the desk. He reaches out a hand. Addison takes it and her body is suddenly sweeping him into a crushing embrace against her own will. She's distantly aware that her tears have fallen onto Richard's sleeve.
"You're going to be alright, Addie; It may not feel like that for a while, but eventually, you will be okay."
She nods wordlessly into his shoulder.
She buys a bottle of red wine on the way back to her apartment (the cashier raises an eyebrow as he looks between her uniform, her lip and the clock on the wall) and enters the threshold wordlessly. Milo rubs himself against her leg when she shuts the door, purring even further once she scratches behind his ear. A feeling she can only hope is comfort fills her chest, dulling the dread in the back of her mind. She stares at the ceiling sitting in a chair that she really should've gotten rid of after her third lower back injury as Red Rocket; Milo is curled up in her lap. Addison's right hand strokes his fur while her left is shoved into her breast pocket, the worksheet Dr Turner had given her that morning folded inside. She takes it out, unfolding it and reading the text at the top of the page.
In the space provided below, please describe the distressing dream in as many details as possible. Include sensory descriptions (sights, smells, sounds, tastes, etc.). Please note the feelings, images, and thoughts associated in this dream, being as specific as possible. Note when the dream begins and when it ends.
She feels her eyes unfocus as she stares at the empty lines filling the rest of the sheet. She sighs and tosses it over to the bed, only for it to circle in the air and land with a flop an arm's length away.
She waits until dark to open the bottle, filling the glass to the brim. She spills wine over her SDN shirt when she tries to take a sip. She sighs, unbuttoning the shirt in a huff and looking down at the drops of merlot stuck to her scarred chest. Addison frowns.
She hears a knock at the door and finds herself saying "Just a minute!" as she scrambles to her closet, shrugging on her Yale hoodie (she's not sure why she still has it - maybe because it reminds her of better days). When she opens the door, she's faced with Meredith, Cristina and Teddy. Meredith is holding a potted plant with her left hand, the right covered in a cast; Teddy grips a small desk lamp in the shape of a human heart while Cristina hangs onto a bottle of very expensive looking scotch.
"Wow, you look even shittier than you did last night." Meredith quips; Addison notes the casual clothes they all wear.
"Uh... What are you guys doing here? What's this?" Addison asks - the voice in the back of her head that sounds far too much like her mother screaming at her to be polite and let her guests in as she moves to the side of the doorway.
Teddy clears her throat, "We're here to save the day! Or, well, the night. Maybe just the mood, actually."
Meredith crosses the threshold first; she looks around in a mock first impression and turns to Addison, "You know bare walls are a sign of depression, right?"
Addison laughs, "You should meet my four hundred dollar an hour shrink. Psychoanalyse me together based on how I am in bed." she whispers.
Meredith laughs as Teddy and Cristina enter the threshold, "Where do you want this?" Teddy asks, gesturing with the lamp.
Addison shrugs, "Anywhere is fine... but why do you have a lamp?"
"It's a housewarming gift. For your housewarming party, Addison." Meredith supplies, gingerly placing the aloe plant onto the counter.
"But I didn't plan a housewarming party."
"It's a surprise party." Cristina says.
"I hate surprise parties." Addison insists.
Meredith shrugs, "Well it's the least we can do since you put your ass on the line to not get us suspended... Thanks, by the way."
Addison smiles, "I just told the truth."
"Well, we appreciate it. Or at least I do. And there's also a matter of like, seventy-five bucks or whatever."
Alex, Izzie and George phase through the door - George has his hands on their shoulders as Izzie holds a blanket; Alex clutches a throw pillow in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other, "Seventy-three, Mer."
"Plus twenty-five cents."
"And the Chili's gift card!"
Addison laughs, lighting her hand with the snap of her fingers, "Is this enough proof?"
The five of them exchange glances, shrugging and nodding before sharing a collective, "Yeah."
Addison feels the inky abyss of her thoughts disappear, replaced instead by... warmth. Joy.
"Great."
As much as she's embarrassed to admit it, Addison enjoys the party. Jackson, April and Lexie arrive slightly later, depositing their gifts (A decorative vase with a bouquet of flowers already inside, a cherry-scented candle and a cactus) on the counter next to Meredith's. Milo takes a sniff of the aloe plant before hissing and jumping away. Someone starts playing music through a speaker with her phone and Addison finds her empty living room (she still hasn't unpacked fully - it's been four months) turned into a dance floor. She leans against the wall, nursing a glass of wine that, to her mild disgust, is beginning to warm in her hands. She sees Teddy and Cristina swaying to the song, hands on each other's hips and smiling; the song changes and Cristina whoops in excitement, beckoning the others over to "Dance it out!". Meredith sidles next to Addison.
"Wanna dance?" Meredith asks.
"I'm not a very good dancer." Addison lies (more of a half-truth - she hasn't since Mrs Sobel's Dance Academy - she wonders if she can still shuffle the way she used to).
Meredith shrugs, gesturing with her cast-covered hand, "Neither am I. At least you have two functioning hands."
Addison frowns, "I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be. It was totally worth it."
The "For you." goes unspoken.
A smile, "Alright, fine. Let's dance it out."
Meredith grins, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her over to the dance floor; she wraps her arms around the back of Addison's neck as Addison's hands move to cradle her waist, thumbs gently brushing along the fabric of her pants. Meredith laughs and Addison feels like her heart is going to explode in her chest. She's used to being burned, but instead she finds herself melting.