𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒈𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒚 & 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒚
Addison's Apartment
The knock was soft, hesitant. Meredith wasn’t expecting anyone. She had only stopped by Addison’s apartment to pick up something and she was about to leave.
When she opened the door, she found Skye standing there.
For a split second, Skye just stood there, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her pupils blown wide with panic. Then, the second she registered that it was Meredith and not Addison, she turned on her heel, ready to leave.
“You’re not—” Skye’s voice was barely there, strangled and small.
“Addison isn’t here,” Meredith said quickly, stepping forward just enough to stop Skye from bolting. “She’ll be back soon. You can wait inside.”
“No.” Skye shook her head, retreating another step. “Sorry, it was a mistake. I—I should go.”
Meredith frowned. “Skye.” Her voice was careful but firm. She wasn’t blind—Skye looked unsteady, her body trembling like she was barely keeping herself together. “Come inside.”
Skye wavered. She looked lost, torn between running and staying, between breaking apart and holding herself together.
“Just for a few minutes,” Meredith said gently. “You don’t have to talk. Just wait here until she’s back.”
Finally, Skye stepped inside.
She didn’t sit. Didn’t take off her coat. She just stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped so tightly around herself that her fingers were digging into her skin.
Meredith kept her voice soft. “What happened?”
Skye let out a shaky breath, barely even hearing the question. “It wasn’t even bad,” she whispered, like she was trying to convince herself. “It was just a touch. Just a hand on my arm, nothing really—”
Meredith saw the way her body recoiled, like the memory itself was too much.
“Where?” she asked carefully.
“A bar,” Skye muttered, pressing the heels of her hands into her temples. “Just drinking, just—just minding my own business. And then he was there. He grabbed my arm—” Her voice cracked. “And I don’t know. Maybe I was just too tired or something. But suddenly, I was there again.”
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her breath growing faster and shallower.
“Skye,” Meredith said gently. “Can I help?”
Skye shook her head rapidly. “I don’t—I don’t know. I can’t—I can’t breathe—”
Meredith could see it happening—the way Skye was folding in on herself, lost in something much deeper than just panic.
Meredith said carefully. “Can you tell me what you need?”
Skye’s hands twitched and she shook her head again.
“Okay,” Meredith said softly. “Okay. Do you want a blanket? Something to hold?”
Skye’s breath was shaky, but she gave a tiny nod.
Meredith moved carefully, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the couch and draping it over Skye’s shoulders, making sure not to touch her skin directly.
Skye gripped the edges like it was a lifeline.
Meredith grabbed her phone and quickly called Addison. The moment Addie picked up, Meredith said. “Skye’s here. She needs you. You need to come home. Now.”
There was no hesitation on Addison’s end. “I’m on my way.”
Meredith hung up and looked at Skye again. She was still breathing too fast, her fingers gripping the blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Meredith hung up and turned back to Skye. “Addison’s coming,” she promised.
Skye let out a weak, broken laugh. “She told me to come to her. When it gets bad.” She swallowed hard. “But she’s not here.”
“But I am,” Meredith said simply. “And she will be here soon.”
Skye’s breathing hitched again, but something in her posture shifted—like she was still breaking, but not alone.
“You’re safe,” Meredith said gently. “You’re here. You’re not there.”
Skye let out a small, broken sound. “I don’t feel safe.”
Meredith nodded. “Okay. What can I do?”
Skye’s fingers twitched. “Just—don’t let me leave.”
Meredith nodded again. “I won’t.”
So she stayed. She didn’t push Skye to talk. Didn’t crowd her. Just stayed.
A few minutes later, the sound of a key turning in the lock broke through the silence.
Skye flinched.
Then Addison was there, stepping inside, immediately scanning the room until her eyes landed on Skye.
“Skye,” Addison breathed, already moving toward her. “What happened?”
Skye squeezed the blanket tighter, her breath uneven. She didn’t answer.
Meredith stood up, stepping aside to give Addison space.
“She came here looking for you,” Meredith said quietly. “She was at a bar. Some guy grabbed her arm, and... it triggered something.”
Addison’s jaw tightened, her gaze flicking back to Skye.
“Hey,” Addison said softly, kneeling in front of her. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Skye blinks, and fresh tears spilled over.
Her breath hitched. “I—I tried. I did what you told me. I came here.”
“You did good. I’m here now.”
Skye bit her lip hard, like she was holding something back.
Addison lowered her voice. “Tell me what happened.”
Skye closed her eyes, her body trembling. Then, barely above a whisper—
“The bar. Some guy. He touched me. And suddenly, I was—” Her voice broke. “I was seven again, in my room, with him.”
Addison inhaled sharply, but her expression didn’t change. She didn’t panic. Didn’t waver. Just stayed steady, present.
She reached out slowly and carefully. “Can I touch you?”
Skye hesitated for half a second. Then, finally, she gave a tiny nod.
The second Addison’s hand met hers, Skye collapsed into her arms.
Meredith watched as Addison held her, rubbing slow, grounding circles into her back.
“I’ve got you,” Addison murmured. “You’re safe.”
Skye just cried.
And Meredith quietly stepped back. Addison had it from here.
“I can feel him all over me again.” Skye continued while pinching her arm to stay grounded. “I don't like it, Addie. How can I erase his touch?” She asks in soft and broken whispers.
Addison held her closer, one hand firm on Skye’s back, the other gently prying Skye’s fingers away from where she was pinching her own skin.
“I know,” Addison murmured. “I know, sweetheart.”
“But you don’t have to do that,” Addison murmured, her voice steady, even as her heart clenched at Skye’s words. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to make it stop.”
Skye’s breath hitched again, but she didn’t fight Addison’s touch. Her fingers dug into Addison’s shirt, clinging like she’d disappear if she let go.
Meredith lingered nearby, silent, watchful. She could leave—should leave—but she didn’t. Not yet. Not until she knew Skye was okay.
Addison shifted just enough to cup Skye’s face, careful, grounding. “Look at me.”
Skye did, barely. Her breath hitched.
“He’s not here,” Addison said, her voice gentle but firm. “He’s not touching you. I promise.”
“But it feels like he is,” Skye whispered, her voice cracking. “It’s still on me. I—” She let out a small, choked sob. “I don’t want it. I want it gone.”
Addison exhaled softly. “Okay. Tell me what you need.”
Skye’s fingers twitched. Her voice was barely there. “I don’t know.”
Addison nodded. “Do you want to shower? Change clothes?”
Skye hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.
“Okay.” Addison didn’t let go just yet. “Do you want me to stay with you? Or just be outside the door?”
“Just outside.”
Addison nodded and pressed a kiss to Skye’s temple, brief but grounding. “Alright. Let’s go.” She glanced at Meredith, who gave a small nod of understanding.
“I’ll get you something warm to drink,” Meredith offered. “And I’ll stay here if you need anything.”
Skye hesitated. Then, finally, she nodded and let Addison guide her toward the bathroom.
As they stood, Skye’s legs wobbled, and Addison steadied her with a light touch to her back, guiding her toward the bathroom.
Before disappearing down the hall, Addison glanced at Meredith, her eyes heavy with gratitude and something unspoken.
Meredith just nodded.
And when the door clicked shut behind them, she finally exhaled, sinking onto the couch.
She had been right not to leave.
When Addison closed the bathroom door, she turned to face Skye, reaching out to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. “Is this okay?”
Skye nodded mutely, her eyes fixed on the tub. Her movements were jerky, almost mechanical, as if she was fighting to keep herself from shaking apart.
Addison set everything up carefully—soap, shampoo, a clean towel—all within Skye’s reach. She moved slowly, deliberately, making sure her presence was reassuring but not overwhelming.
She turned back to Skye, who was still standing stiffly by the tub, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Addison’s heart ached at the sight, but she kept her voice steady. “You think you can do this on your own?”
Skye swallowed, then gave a small nod. But her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her shirt.
Addison hesitated for a moment, then said gently, “I’ll be right outside. If you need anything—anything at all—just call me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Addison lingered for a second longer, making sure Skye was at least steady enough to stand on her own. Then, with one last reassuring look, she stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar—not to intrude, just to make sure Skye wasn’t completely alone.
She leaned against the wall outside, listening for any signs of distress, her heart heavy with the weight of what Skye had just gone through.
She hated this. Hated that Skye was feeling this way and that she had to relive something she never should have experienced in the first place.
But she was here. And as long as Skye needed her, she wasn’t going anywhere.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open. Addison turned immediately, eyes scanning Skye as she stepped out, a towel wrapped tightly around her body. Her damp hair clung to her skin, and her bare shoulders trembled slightly.
Addison wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air or something else entirely. Maybe both.
Wordlessly, she grabbed the spare clothes she had set aside—an old, soft sweatshirt and a pair of loose sweatpants, nothing that might feel too tight or too rough against Skye’s skin. “Come on,” she said gently, nodding toward the bedroom.
Skye didn’t say anything; she just followed, her steps slow and uneven.
Once they were inside, Addison handed her the clothes. “They’re comfortable,” she assured her. “No tags, no weird textures.”
Skye took them with a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“I’ll wait outside,” Addison said, stepping toward the door to give her privacy. Before she left, she added softly, “Take your time.”
It didn’t take long before Skye emerged, dressed in the sweatshirt and sweatpants, the sleeves of the oversized top hiding most of her hands. Her hair was still damp, but she looked a little more present—though her fingers still curled into the fabric of her sleeves like she needed something to hold onto.
Addison gave her a small smile. “Better?”
Skye didn’t answer, just gave the smallest shrug.
“Come on,” Addison said, motioning toward the living room. “Mer’s waiting.”
When they returned to the living room, Meredith was already waiting, a steaming mug in her hands. The moment she saw Skye, she stood and held it out. “Hot cocoa,” she said. “Figured you could use something warm.”
Skye blinked at her, as if unsure how to respond. Then, after a beat, she took the mug, her fingers curling around the warmth.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.
Meredith gave a small nod, sitting back down but keeping her attention on Skye, watching without pressing.
Addison sat beside her, close but not too close. “Drink,” she encouraged softly. “It’ll help.”
Skye lifted the mug to her lips, taking a small sip. Her hands were still trembling slightly. The warmth helped, but it wasn’t enough to push away the lingering feeling crawling under her skin.
It was still there. His touch. She could feel it—ghostly and wrong, imprinted on her like a stain she couldn’t scrub away.
The bar. The man’s hand. The way it latched onto her arm, fingers pressing just a little too hard.
But then, it wasn’t his hand anymore.
It was another hand. Larger, heavier.
Her breathing hitched. She gripped the mug tighter, as if the pressure could ground her, but her mind was already pulling her back.
She was seven again. Small, trapped in her own room. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked. He never locked it—because locking it meant admitting what was happening.
She curled up under her blanket, pretending to be asleep because sometimes, if she stayed very, very still, he would go away.
But he didn’t.
The scent of whiskey in the air, heavy and suffocating. His hand was on her wrist, then her arm, then—
No, no, no—
“Skye.” Addison’s voice was sharp but gentle, cutting through the rising panic. “Look at me.”
Skye gasped, her chest rising and falling too fast. She barely registered the mug being taken from her hands before Addison was in front of her, crouching slightly, steady and calm.
Then Addison spoke. “Can I hold your hands?”
It was a simple question, but Skye froze. The idea of touch—of any touch—made her stomach twist.
But this was Addison.
Not him.
She wanted to say no. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to feel safe again.
Finally, she nodded. A small, barely-there nod.
Addison moved carefully, taking Skye’s hands in hers, covering them completely, her grip firm but not restrictive. “Breathe with me,” she said softly.
Skye’s breath was still unsteady, but she tried.
In. Out.
Addison’s thumbs traced slow circles over Skye’s knuckles. “You’re not there,” she murmured. “You’re here. You’re in my apartment. With me. With Meredith. No one else.”
Skye’s lip trembled.
Addison squeezed her hands just a little. “He’s not here,” she said gently but firmly. “You’re safe.”
Skye tried to nod, but the memory still clung to her, thick and suffocating. Her nails dug into her palms. She wanted it to stop. She wanted out of her own skin.
Her hands moved before she could stop them, nails digging into the skin of her arm— too much, too much, get it out, get it off—
A pair of hands—gentle but firm—wrapped around hers, stopping her. “No,” Addison said softly. “Not like that.”
“I can still feel him,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to feel him.”
Addison’s jaw tensed, but her voice remained gentle. “You’re safe. He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I promise.”
Skye shook her head rapidly, the tears she had been trying to hold back slipping free. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
Meredith, still in front of her, held out her hand, palm up, offering, not forcing. “Can I touch you?”
Skye hesitated, her breath still uneven.
Mer didn’t move, just waited, patient and steady.
After a moment, Skye gave a tiny nod.
Meredith placed her hand over Skye’s, warm and firm, not pressing, just there. “Feel this?” she asked softly.
Skye blinked through her tears, nodding faintly.
“This is real,” Meredith said. “Right now, you’re here, not there. This—” she squeezed Skye’s hand just slightly, grounding her, “—is real.”
Skye exhaled shakily.
Addison shifted closer, her voice calm but unwavering. “We’ve got you. You’re not alone in this.”
Skye sucked in a breath, her body still trembling, but the haze of the flashback started to loosen its grip.
She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, shaking her head. “I hate this,” she whispered.
Addison’s brows furrowed. “Hate what?”
“This,” Skye spat, frustration bleeding into her voice. She tugged one of her hands free, swiping at her tear-streaked face. “I hate that I’m—” Her breath hitched, but she forced the words out. “That I’m so pathetic. That I’m crying over something that wasn’t even that bad.”
She squeezed her hands into fists, curling into herself. “It was just a touch. It wasn’t even like that. And I still—I still freaked out. Like I’m some helpless little kid. Like I’ll never stop being that kid.” Her throat tightened, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I just—I just want to be normal.”
Addison exhaled slowly, shifting slightly so she could look Skye in the eye. “Skye, listen to me.”
Skye looked up, eyes red and exhausted.
“You are not pathetic,” Addison said firmly. “You survived something horrible. And your body remembers, even when your mind knows it’s over.”
Meredith nodded. “Trauma doesn’t care if it was ‘just a touch.’ Your brain isn’t broken for reacting this way. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you human.”
Skye let out a weak, bitter laugh. “Then why do I feel like this?”
“Because healing isn’t linear,” Addison answered softly. “Because sometimes, even when you think you’re past something, it can still hit you out of nowhere. That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re still healing.”
Skye sniffled, shaking her head. “But I should be over it. It’s been years.”
Addison softened. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Skye’s breath was uneven again, but this time it wasn’t from panic—it was from the weight of their words settling in her chest.
She swallowed hard. “I wanted to hurt myself,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “Back in the bar, when I’m on my way her, in the bathroom. I wanted to—” She stopped, her voice cracking.
“But you didn’t.” Addison said gently.
“Not yet.”
“You’re here,” Meredith said, her voice steady. “You did the right thing coming here. That was strong.”
Skye let out a weak scoff. “Didn’t feel strong.”
“Doesn’t matter how it felt,” Meredith said simply. “It was.”
For a few moments, silence settled between them. A silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable, just there. Skye took another sip, letting the warmth ground her a little more.
She felt exhausted. Completely drained. The tension in her body, the panic, the memories—it had all taken so much out of her. She blinked slowly, her body slumping just a little against the couch.
Addison noticed the way her grip on the mug was loosening and gently reached over, easing it out of her hands before it could spill. “You’re exhausted,” she murmured.
Skye made a small sound in agreement but didn’t move.
“Lie down,” Addison urged.
Skye didn’t argue. She shifted, curling onto her side, pulling the sleeves of the sweatshirt over her hands. She barely even registered it when Addison draped a blanket over her.
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out.
Addison watched her for a moment, making sure she was really asleep before she finally exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
Meredith leaned back against the couch and sighed. “That was a lot.”
“Yeah.” Addison glanced toward Skye. “It’s not the first time.”
“How often?”
Addison hesitated, then admitted, “More than she lets on.”
Meredith’s expression softened. “She came straight to you.”
“Yeah.” Addison let out a quiet breath. “That’s the only good thing about all of this.”
“She doesn’t talk about it much. I’ve told her she can always come to me, but she tries to deal with it on her own most of the time.”
Meredith nodded, glancing at Skye’s sleeping form. “That’s a hard thing to unlearn.”
“I know.” Addison’s jaw tightened slightly. “And I know I can’t fix it for her. But I wish I could do more.”
Meredith gave her a small, understanding look. “You’re already doing a lot.”
Addison sighed again, glancing at Skye. “I just want her to know she doesn’t have to go through this alone.”
“She knows,” Meredith said. “Even if she doesn’t always say it.”
Addison didn’t respond right away, but after a moment, she nodded.
“And you? Are you okay?” Meredith asked.
Addison blinked, caught off guard. “I—It’s not about me.”
“No, but you care about her.” Meredith gave her a knowing look. “And it’s hard to see someone you care about like that.”
Addison was quiet for a long moment before she finally said, “I just wish she didn’t have to go through this. That she didn’t have to be strong all the time.” She exhaled. “I wish I could do more.”
Meredith nodded. “But you are doing something. She came here. She let you help her.”
Addison looked back at Skye, curled up on the couch, her breathing steady. “Yeah,” she murmured. “She did.”