Archive of Our Own

Three months. Most wounds take three months to fully heal. An embryo becomes a fetus in three months. Meredith falls in love with Addison in three months.

Addison was the bad guy in Derek's story, Ruler of All That is Evil, Satan’s Whore and whatever other colorful names he had so lovingly given her. Rightly so, Meredith had thought. She had even felt sorry for him because if she had a wife and a best friend who slept together, she’d be giving out a lot more than just a nickname or two.

Then he’d had some sudden fucking need to act like a sanctimonious prick and reconcile with his wife.

Meredith refuses to bow down with grace, accept her loss, and move on. She doesn't care if that makes her the bad guy, not when blazing hot rage courses through her veins, when unshed tears of humiliation sting her eyes as she remembers watching Derek pick his wife over her.

It's not cheating, she tells herself the first time. Cheating is sleeping with your husband's best friend and cheating is dating a woman behind your wife's back and fucking said woman in an empty examination room while said wife mingles with guests outside. Meredith is not Ellis. She is not a cheater.

This is pure fucking revenge.

She slowly breaks Addison down; a lingering touch here, a too-long stare there. She starts wearing her old perfume again, puts a bit more effort in her hair. She blinks prettily at her, answers every question she asks correctly.

She fucks Addison just because she can, because the attendings’ lounge is empty and Addison is lonely, quietly simmering with heat and oh so starved for human touch. Meredith feels it in the way Addison leans into her palm, sighs at the barest flick of her touch against her cheek, down her throat. (Revenge, revenge, revenge.)

She likes the look of red hair wrapped around her fingers, likes the flush that creeps over Addison's neck, down her chest. She likes the mewls that escape her lips, so in contrast to the imposing figure she makes at work.

The thought of someone finding them with her face buried between Addison's thighs, with Meredith's name spilling off her lips sends a twisted sense of pleasure down her spine.

She wonders if she's sick, depraved for finding pleasure in using a (questionably) innocent person to restore her broken pride.

(She doesn’t question why a woman recently reconciled with her husband lets his ex-girlfriend fuck her breathless. It’s none of her concern.)

She's got desperation and adultery in her blood and if that makes her the bad guy this time, then so fucking be it.

She can feel Addison getting attached. It terrifies and thrills her in equal measure. Her first thought is that it's the perfect sort of fuck you to him. A burning curiosity follows, an eagerness to discover this woman who has both enraged and enchanted her since the day they met.

It's a strange sort of high, one that she's never felt before and she decides to indulge. She listens as Addison quietly shares parts of herself, takes in her anecdotes and quirks, and suddenly she seems so painfully human that Meredith almost feels guilty.

She doesn't realize when the shift happens. Maybe it was the time Addison brought her coffee just because she was having a rough day, or when she had explained the entire Star Wars timeline because it's an important thing to know, Meredith!

It could've been any one of infinite moments scattered over a month of on-call and storage room rendezvous, when Meredith had really seen Addison for herself, that makes the thought of Derek finding out about them suddenly go from maliciously glee inducing to simply insignificant.

In hindsight, she should've stopped right then, ended the whole thing, mission aborted and gone on with her fucking life. She should've left Addison hanging onto the ghost of her and moved on. It was the perfect plan; she would know that she could have anyone she wanted and so would he. Addison would just be collateral damage.

Oh, oh but she so likes watching Addison come alive under her touch, smirks when she takes over, relishes that moment when she lets go of the restraint she seems to so tightly hold onto with her husband and drives Meredith into the sheets.

Those nights leave her completely breathless, begging for more as Addison leaves bruises and bites down her throat, across her thighs, all over her breasts. It doesn't feel so much like revenge when Addison spits in her mouth and calls her a little slut.

She carries those bruises for days, stands opposite Derek in operating rooms with his wife's fingertips all over her body.

That too stops being exciting after a while.

Now she just wonders what the fuck sort of husband he is to make his wife so utterly unhappy that she keeps looking for affection and solace in other people.

Maybe Addison wasn’t, isn’t the bad guy in the story after all, not with how she arches into Meredith’s touch like she’s starved for it, how she pulls her close after, and perhaps Meredith dodged a bullet after all.

She falls in love on a rainy October night.

She's insane to keep doing this, she thinks as she enters the huge glass doors. They've long shifted their meetings from storage closets to discreet, expensive hotel rooms.

Catherine Deneuve, room two sixty-three, she tells the young man at reception. He politely nods and hands her a card. Meredith knows that he is fully aware of what is going to happen in Catherine Deneuve's room when he bids her a perfectly courteous goodnight.

She takes a shower while she waits for Addison, lets the sweat and grime of a long shift wash off her body. She doesn’t bother dressing again and lounges on the bed in just a ridiculously soft hotel-issued bathrobe.

She gets up to open the door when she hears the familiar double knock. Addison kisses her hello and it’s unusually soft, almost sad. Meredith contemplates asking if something is wrong but Addison sheds her coat and pulls her towards the bed and her brain goes blank.

Meredith’s robe opens when she is pushed onto the bed. She looks up to see the green of Addison’s eyes glaze over as she takes in Meredith’s bare body, gasps as Addison lowers herself on top of her. Meredith reaches up to unbutton her blouse, tugs at her skirt until it bunches around her hips. Her hand finds its place in the apex of Addison’s thighs. She feels the sodden silk with a groan, moves it aside and pushes her fingers inside.

Addison back arches as she gasps. Meredith rolls them over, kisses down Addison’s neck, across her chest, and settles between her hips. Addison's thighs rest on her shoulders and Meredith's fingers dig into the soft skin. She places gentle kisses over Addison’s hipbone as she fucks her. Her mouth moves up her body as she continues fluttering kisses all over her stomach.

A strangled sob escapes Addison’s lips and Meredith looks up to grin at her, only to halt when she sees the tears pooled in Addison’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” she sniffs, wiping at her eyes as she digs her heels into Meredith’s back in a silent plea to continue.

Meredith keeps the you’re not to herself. Instead, she grasps Addison’s thighs and gently lifts them down. Addison whimpers when she slowly climbs up her body, careful for any signs of discomfort.

She lies down next to her, facing her as Addison rapidly blinks at the ceiling. Her clasped hands rest on her chest and Meredith quietly brings her own hand to lie atop hers.

Addison finally turns to look at her and a tear slips out onto the pillow.

“Can you just-” she begins, then stops, turns back and looks at the ceiling again.

“Addison,” Meredith reaches out to cup her cheek, “What do you need?”

Addison looks at her oddly for a moment before her eyes get watery again. Her voice is so low when she speaks that Meredith would’ve missed it if she weren’t lying next to her.

“Can you hold me?”

Meredith instantly reaches out and pulls her into her arms. She feels Addison practically melt into her as she softly rubs her back, throws a leg over hers to bring her closer. She can sense the tightness in Addison’s chest in the deep breaths she’s taking, almost like she’s in physical pain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Meredith asks softly.

Addison doesn't respond, only buries her face in Meredith's hair and tightens her grip around her waist. Meredith keeps stroking her back and fuck, she can feel herself falling into the black hole of emotions she has been edging for two months.

She wonders if he said something, if he made her fucking cry and fuck, fuck, fuck, it's none of her business but she could go and break his face right this moment.

Addison looks up at her with shiny eyes and cheeks blotched with red. She kisses Meredith, breathless and deep, and when she pulls back, Meredith is fucking gone.

“I should go,” she suddenly says, extracting herself from Meredith arms as she begins buttoning her blouse. She refuses to meet Meredith's eyes.

She thinks about being five and looking up at her mother scream at Richard to come back. For the first time in Meredith's life, she understands her. As she watches Addison adjust her skirt, she finally gets the desperation, the fear, the urge to hold onto the other person and never let go.

Addison bends down to kiss her temple, “Thank you, Meredith.”

Stay, please.

She then whispers a soft good night and slips out the door.

Meredith wraps the sheet tighter around her body and blinks back tears.

She stabs her fork into a brussel sprout as she watches him across the table. He's sitting on Addison's right. He's been talking to everyone but her. He hasn't even looked at Addison. A perverse part of her is pleased because she wants to be the only one looking at Addison but mostly she just wants to bite his neck off.

It enrages her, makes her want to smash her own head in a wall, when she lays her head in Addison's lap and her warm fingers stroke her hair or when she watches her all alone in her husband’s shadow, that all she gets are stolen moments under borrowed time and he gets to live with this woman, gets to have her love and her body and her soul and yet he does not fucking care.

She takes a look around the table and a part of her is jealous of the carefree, joyful flow of conversation. She gets up, goes to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of Chardonnay. She takes a round of the table, tipping glasses and exchanging smiles that make her jaw hurt.

She feels Addison's eyes on her when she bends down to fill her glass. Oh, she’s the worst sort of person to keep doing this but she arches her back just so, lets her other hand rest on the side of Addison's chair. She brushes against the cashmere of Addison's sleeve and feels her still for a moment, her fork mid-air, her breath caught.

She wishes she didn't live in a house with so many people. She wishes they weren't in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and she could take Addison right here, right now, splayed across the dining table. She also wishes she had stopped the first time, had never gotten stuck in this intricate web of deceit they've woven for themselves.

(Wishes don't come true because if they did Addison would be in her bed instead of his and the angry, gaping hole in her heart wouldn't exist.)

She feels Addison watching her again after dessert, when they've all settled in the living room for some game Meredith cannot focus on. She looks up at her across the coffee table, takes in her glazed green eyes and rapidly reddening cheeks. Oh, fuck, yes.

There is a flash of motion and the next thing she knows is Addison rising from her chair, a deep red splash staining the front of her sweater.

“I’m so sorry-” Addison begins.

“Uh- we can get it out,” Meredith instantly offers, her heart thumping as she stands up, “And I’ll get you something to change into.”

A sudden hush takes over the room and Meredith can feel all eyes on them. This dinner was a bad idea from the start and she should’ve never given into Izzie’s pleas. Who the fuck even invites their ex and his wife who they’re secretly sleeping with to fucking Thanksgiving? (Who the fuck even sleeps with their ex’s wife for almost four months straight?) And now everyone’s watching them because isn’t it just so fucking funny to guess which woman will kill the other first?

Addison simply nods, “Thank you.”

She hears conversation pick up again when they leave the living room. Her hand hovers over the small of Addison’s back as she guides her to the laundry room.

The comforting scent of lavender softener envelopes them as soon as they enter. Meredith has barely closed the door behind them when she is pressed against it, Addison's breath hot on her neck.

Oh. Oh.

Meredith can hear muffled laughter coming in from the living room as her hands travel down Addison’s back. She squeezes her ass and delights in the tiny squeak she lets out. Meredith spins them around so it’s Addison pressed against the door. She is softly kissing her neck, her hands sliding over the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips when she remembers the wine stain that is the reason they are here in the first place.

She pulls the sweater off Addison and turns to look for a clean cloth to wet, and she’ll need dishwashing liquid - maybe they should just go to the kitchen – and oh.

Addison tugs at her elbow and pulls her back. She grabs Meredith’s hands and places them back over her hips.

"Forget it,” Addison gasps as the sweater lands on the floor, “I want you- oh, God.”

Meredith’s mind races as she drops to her knees. She looks up at Addison through hooded eyes, “How bad?”

"I've been thinking about it- you- all night, oh," she throws her head back when Meredith traces her hands on the insides of her thighs.

“Bad enough to purposely spill wine over yourself?” Meredith smirks.

She watches the flush of Addison’s cheeks darken as she nods.

Fuck. She unbuttons her slacks, pulls them off along with her panties and God. It almost makes her sick, this desperate, almost animalistic need to feel Addison around herself. It makes her want to pierce a cannula through her own skin and let the feeling pump through her veins forever.

She pushes her fingers in and spreads them, opening Addison up for her. She presses her tongue inside, lapping at her core as Addison's hands tug at her hair.

"No marks," Addison gasps, and oh Meredith ought to cover her thighs with her mouth.

"Why don't you just leave him?" Meredith growls against her cunt because fuck it, she is tired.

She feels Addison shiver against her mouth. She isn’t sure if it’s the question or just the feeling of her voice.

"I love him," Addison whispers, and it's so hollow that Meredith almost feels bad for her. Almost.

"No, you don't," she scoffs, and pushes her tongue back inside.

"I do love h- oh- oh, God, Meredith, please," Addison sobs.

Meredith chuckles mirthlessly as she brushes her thumb across Addison's clit. She comes on her face, her thighs shaking around Meredith's head as she cries out her name and fuck, there is no better feeling.

Meredith keeps going, tiny licks cleaning Addison up until her hips buck and Meredith knows it's too much. She pulls back, reaches for Addison's discarded clothes and hands them to her.

"Wait, what about you?" Addison asks, dropping the clothes again and pulling her close.

"I'm okay," Meredith says, "We need to get back."

"It's fine," Addison whispers, reaching out to unbutton Meredith's pants.

Meredith pushes her hands away. They've been gone too long and somebody is bound to come checking by now. And Meredith, for the life of her, has no socially acceptable explanation for why Addison is almost naked with her. She cannot even picture what will happen if they're caught. All she does know is that it will be the end and nothing is worth risking that.

"Next time, Addie. I promise," Meredith says, because there will be a next time, there always is.

Addison softens at the nickname and Meredith pulls her close, breathes in her perfume. She cups the nape of her neck and kisses her.

"Thank you," Addison whispers against her lips. She tastes like wine and sugar. Meredith sucks on her tongue, tugs at her bottom lip until it swells a pretty pink.

She breaks the kiss when she feels Addison shiver against her and reaches over to go through the freshly laundered pile of clothes while Addison dresses herself. She pulls out a soft pink sweater and holds it out to Addison.

“It’s a bit crumpled, I could get you something from-”

“No, it’s perfect,” Addison smiles as she takes it, “It smells like you.”

Meredith ignores the warmth settling deep in her chest. Instead, she picks up the ruined sweater from the floor and steps out into the kitchen. Addison follows her, watches her as Meredith runs the stain under cool water and pours dishwashing liquid on it. She knows it’s a fruitless attempt as her fingers softly scrub the fabric.

But it’s so much easier to try removing a stain that won’t ever go than to look up at Addison playing with the sleeve of her - well, Meredith’s - sweater, smiling fondly to herself. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s doing it, Meredith realizes as she lays the wet fabric in her hands on the counter.

She explains the steps as she goes, just like Izzie had taught her. Addison nods along.

“Now we leave it here and hope it works,” Meredith smiles, finally looking up at Addison.

“Can we stay here a moment?” Addison asks softly, her voice almost unsure, “I don’t want to go back yet.”

Meredith slowly nods. Her chest feels tight as she rounds the island to stand next to Addison, her shoulder brushing against hers as they watch the red absorb the liquid.

Meredith wants to laugh out loud. She wants to ask Addison what she had only dared to say in the haze of sex and privacy earlier. Now the voices coming from the living room are clear, his voice is distinct among them and yet Addison shifts closer to her.

The back of her hand brushes against Meredith’s and it feels more intimate than everything they’ve done as yet. Meredith remains quiet because she knows the fucking answer. Addison will choose to stay with him no matter how loudly she screams Meredith's name in secret.

She really doesn’t know why. Meredith knows that she’s fucking miserable. Maybe it’s pride, an absolute refusal to fail at something a second time. Maybe she really does love him. She almost laughs at that because Addison is standing here with her watching a fucking stain being removed instead of returning to him.

And fuck, maybe it started all wrong but she isn’t the bad guy anymore, not when she knows she makes Addison happy. And perhaps this is the most pathetic love story she’s ever seen, if she can even call it that, but all Meredith knows is that she’ll stand here, her pinkie finger intertwined with Addison’s, and look at a two-thousand dollar piece of fabric Addison ruined because she'd wanted her so badly for as long as Addison will have her.

“This isn’t going to go away, Addison,” Meredith says, tracing the stain.

It glares back at them, still as red as ever.

“Maybe I don’t want it to.”

Meredith looks up to see Addison watching her intently. Her breath catches as Addison places her hand over hers on the soapy fabric.

Meredith gives her a small smile in return, her chest aching, and she knows that she’d be the bad guy of every fucking story, ruin any marriage, any relationship, her own fucking sanity, to keep her too.