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The Elizabeth Blackwell Society (1/1)
Title: The Elizabeth Blackwell Society
Author: callalillykaye
Rating: TEEN
Category: Crossover, Grey's Anatomy & The West Wing
Characters: Amy Gardner, Addison Shepherd
Pairing: Implied Donna/Josh, Meredith/Derek
Spoiler Info: None
Disclaimer: They belong to Shonda and Aaron.
E-mail address for feedback: emmakayeross@yahoo.com
Archiving permission: Sure, just tell me first
Notes: Written for Chelsea_Energy for the Sunday Night Women Ficathon. Thanks to Claire Alison for getting this off the ground, I sincerely appreciate your encouragement. And, of course, for Allie, who checked my spelling and helped me make Amy like Amy. (She would know.)



“They’ll never invite you,” Amy says, tossing her fork down and laughing.

“Why not? I’m brilliant. I’m charming. I can withstand physical and emotional torture,” Josh says. He leans forward in his chair, across the table toward Amy, the flirtation in his posture not going unnoticed by their dinner companion.

“This from the man who depledged Pi Kappa Alpha sophomore year of undergrad ‘cause he couldn’t hold four beers, let alone forty.”

“Amy, I thought I told you that in strict confidence.”

Amy shrugs. Josh pretends to be angry, though he is clearly smitten with her. The pair locks eyes, looking curiously upon each other, intrigued. At this point in their young lives, they are the most fascinating people to each other.

“Hey, Amy, remember Chris?” Addison chimes in, stirring her vodka cranberry absently.

“Hey, Addie, remember that time I kicked your ass?”

Even though this shuts Addison up, the moment is gone. Josh leans back in his chair and pushes his plate away. “Trust me, I’ll get asked. If Chris Witt gets in, then by God…”

“What do you mean, ‘if Chris Witt gets in’?” Amy asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Didn’t Chris…”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Of course, not to your knowledge, Amy. It’s a secret society. The whole point is that it’s not to your knowledge.”

“Joshua…”

“All I’m saying is that the Secretary of the Interior, the Secretary of Commerce, the Vice President…all Skull and Bones guys.”

“Also, Republicans,” Addison counters. Amy has figured out how to make Josh laugh, how to push his buttons, how to turn him on.

Addison knows how to shut him up.

“You know what I think?” Amy asks, finally breaking Josh’s gaze.

“What do you think?” Josh’s dimples make an adorable appearance. Amy can resist them.

“I think it’s bullshit that they only accept men. Do you have any idea how sexy you would be if you stopped pursuing this society on principle?” Amy asks, using air quotes around the word “society.”

Amy has also learned how to appeal to Josh’s ego.

Josh, for his part, rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Not again with the feminista ranting.”

Amy steamrolls over his comment and continues. “I think we should form our own secret society,” she tells Addison.

“Yeah? Like what—the Betty Friedan Secret Society?”

“More like the Secret Society of Bitchin’-Hot Women Who Don’t Need Jackasses Like Josh Lyman to Make Substantive Contributions to the United States of America.”

Addison laughs into her tumbler as she drains the last of her drink. “That’s a pretty complicated acronym.”

Amy thinks for a moment, crunching the ice in her glass. “I’ve got it.”

“Hmm?” Addison asks, looking up from her sadly-empty glass.

“The Elizabeth Blackwell Society. First American woman to get her medical degree. Feminist and doctor,” she beams, pointing back and forth between herself and her friend.

“Perfect.” The two women burst into a fit of laughter.

“I need another drink,” Josh declares. Amy and Addison present their glasses to him, silently requesting refills. “Heaven help me some days with the two of you.”

Josh gets up, taking all three glasses with him. Amy, always in need of the last laugh, good-naturedly spits back, “I thought Jews don’t believe in heaven?”

---

It has been ten years since Amy convinced Addison to hyphenate her last name to Montgomery-Shepherd.

Amy Gardner remembers this moment fondly, standing beside a shaking Addie while she filled out the name-change forms at a courthouse in Manhattan. Not believing that Addison, who had a personality more intense than her fiery red hair, had ended up engaged to the most sensitive, genuinely sweet man on the face of the planet. Not believing that Addison, who made her living operating on tiny fetuses inside of people, was so nervous about a couple sheets of paperwork.

As if Addison Forbes Shepherd wasn’t severe enough.

Amy leans back in her desk chair and tries to calculate the last time they’ve seen each other. After the wedding, their friendship waned. At that point in her life, Addison was throwing herself into two marriages—one with Derek and one with St. Vincent’s Hospital in Manhattan. Amy, too, became busy around that time, having just been hired by Elaine Saliers to raise money for her ultimately successful Senate campaign. They saw each other on occasion, usually when Amy’s work took her to New York for an overnight trip. It wasn’t often, but they had always maintained the ability to pick up right where they left off.

But now it’s been more than a year since Amy and Addison have spoken, Amy concludes regretfully. Last she heard, Addison and Derek had packed up and moved to Seattle. She isn’t sure of the specifics, of what prompted the move, but decides that it must have been relatively last minute and motivated by something…extraordinary.

It would have had to be extraordinary, Amy thinks, for Addison Forbes Montgomery-Shepherd to have left St. Vincent’s.

She snaps forward in her chair when reality strikes to remind her of the extremely overdue project she’s working on. The Prenatal Health Care Act needs a big push before it can get out of committee, and Congresswoman Kent, the bill’s sponsor, enlisted Amy and the Feminist Majority’s help. For several days, they’ve been in meetings, discussing strategies to push the bill to a floor vote.

They’ve started a massive letter-writing campaign, managed to get it endorsed by the White House, gotten Helen Santos behind it, and still it hasn’t quite reached the finish line.

Amy is politically baffled, and it’s a feeling that she doesn’t particularly like.

She considers calling her contacts in Hollywood, but she doesn’t think that’s going to fly with Congress if they’re not responding to the freaking First Lady.

She thinks about throwing a semi-unethical luncheon…but how is she supposed to plan a luncheon and get important people to show up in a matter of days?

She’s nowhere and she knows it. She turns her attention instead to the photos on her desk. There’s one of her two nephews, birthday cake frosting all over their faces, sweetly reminding her of how much she does not want children of her own. There’s another of her and her parents at her sister’s backyard wedding, sweetly reminding her of how much she does not want to move back to Massachusetts. She does want what she sees in the third picture, one of her standing between President and Dr. Bartlet. She wants greatness, and they’ve got it. She wants happiness and still-in-love-after-all-these-years and they’ve got it.

Which brings her to the last picture, which sits quietly behind the rest. A picture of four people, third-year graduate students. Two almost-lawyers and two almost-doctors. Four smiling faces, still naïve to the troubles of the real world, having cocktails at their favorite bar in New Haven, thinking about how very grown-up and professional and damned classy they were.

It’s Amy and Addison flanked by two now-important men, one who has become, quite literally, a brain surgeon, and one who has become, however much it scares the girls, the second-in-command of the United States government.

Derek Shepherd and Josh Lyman.

She smiles at the memory of their friendship. Misses it, really. Misses what life used to be like, before they became semi-powerful people. Simple. Back then, fun was when Derek came in from New York for the weekend to visit Addison and the four of them shared a handle of vodka and mixers.

She remembers one night, Almost-Doctor Shepherd holding her hair back while she vomited after a record-breaking eleven vodka shots while Almost-Doctor Addison tended to Josh, who was in the same situation but had only knocked back three.

“I didn’t have dinner,” he whined, trying to justify the fact that he had just thrown up all over Addison’s new pink shoes. “I did those shots a lot faster than Amy did.”

Life was so much better back then, before they started worrying about jobs and relationships and campaigns and the inner workings of people’s bodies.

Before they became politicians and neurosurgeons and hot-shot…

Obstetric surgeons.

A professional face. That’s exactly what this bill needs—a professional face. A gorgeous, brilliant, no-nonsense doctor who can tell Congress and the public how amazing this bill is going to be for women and babies everywhere.

Seriously, though, who better to put a professional face on the Prenatal Health Care Act than one of the most prominent obstetric surgeons in the United States—especially one who is in serious need of a few vodka crans with an old friend?

Of course, Amy has no idea how to get in touch with Addison. Her numbers are all New York numbers. Her email address is a St. Vincent’s address.

Amy briefly recalls receiving a gossipy email from a mutual friend a few months back, wanting to chit-chat about the Shepherds, a pastime which Amy had no interest in. Until now, of course. She prays that she dragged it to her personal inbox folder instead of sending it straight to the recycle bin. Scanning through subject lines, she comes across what she’s looking for:

TO: Amy.Gardner@feministmajority.org
FROM: Kathleen.Foster@mail.house.gov
SUBJECT: Montgomery-Shepherds

Katie’s email contains details she wishes she had known before tonight. Details about an affair, a cross-country exodus, and her blind departure in an attempt to repair their marriage.

Amy’s hand flies to her mouth as she realizes that, somewhere during their journey from bridesmaids to strangers, Addison had needed a friend. But she’s been too busy even to read the email and she suspects that Addie had been busy, too. Probably too busy to notice that her marriage was failing until she ended up in the arms of another man.

Apparently, Mark, Derek’s best friend. Ouch.

According to a more recent email update—thanks again to Katie, a Yale alumna who desperately wanted to be in the Society but never was—the divorce is now final. Addison is still in Seattle, thanks to a hefty contract she signed with the hospital, divorced and hating the weather. Analyzing the date of the latest email, Amy assumes that the Shepherds have been divorced for about two months.

Yes, Amy surmises, Addison Montgomery-Shepherd needs a friend. She needs a friend with a well-stocked liquor cabinet and the sweetest Bassett Hound on the planet. The information in the email directs her to Seattle Grace Hospital, which she quickly Googles. It’s not difficult to find a gorgeous staff picture of Dr. Addison Forbes Montgomery, along with—drumroll, please—an email address.

Her short email does not mention any words that start with D—divorce, Derek, or doctors. It contains only a request for her presence, a request “at the behest of the Elizabeth Blackwell Society.”

---

It’s late on a Tuesday night and Addison Montgomery is drunk.

Jet-lagged and depressed, too, but mostly just drunk.

“Oh my God, Amy, you have no idea how much I needed this,” she laughs, finishing her fourth vodka cran.

“Well, you have no idea how much Feminist Majority needed you.”

“It’s nice to be needed.”

“Addison, seriously, you helping us out with this—it’s monumental. This bill is going to…make people’s lives better. Healthier moms, healthier babies, healthier future, healthier adult Americans.”

“Amy?”

“Yeah?”

“That sounds like…what do you call it—a sound byte? Do you know what this would even mean?” Addison asks exuberantly, reaching for her reading glasses. She’s beaming with joy and excitement.

Amy laughs and nods. “Well, yeah…pretty much. But that’s why I brought you out here, so you could explain the medical stuff. Turn it into English.”

“Amy, this would appropriate—right? Appropriate?”

“Right.”

“This would appropriate two hundred million dollars toward funding new sonogram equipment for county hospitals. This would allow hospitals nationwide to gain access to technology that would help them diagnose Downs Syndrome earlier in pregnancy and with higher accuracy. Amy, this is huge.”

“I know.”

Addison skims back over the rest of the document. “Two billion for funding clinics that give prenatal exams, including sonograms, amniocentesis, and fetal heart monitors. Why isn’t 100% of Congress backing this up?”

Amy laughs. “Because it’s a four billion dollar package, Addison. And because not everyone has your medical expertise. And because Republicans hate babies.”

“This bill would make a difference for so many moms and babies. It would let doctors do a much better job. Babies will be healthier, happier, safer. This needs to be a law, Amy.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You really are. You’re out here, making a difference, saving the world one Prenatal Healthcare Act at a time.”

Addison looks down at her hands, wondering when life became so complicated. She swishes her drink around before taking a long swig. Life got crazy, and she forgot how good this drink tasted. And how nice it was to spend time with this person.

“Addison, you cut open people inside of people. You save people’s lives.”

“One person at a time…this bill is going to change…everything.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m still working on paid family leave, equal pay for equal work, breast cancer research…”

“Exactly. You’re working on…”

“Okay, you know what, let’s just stop arguing about whose job is more important. We are the co-founders of the Elizabeth Blackwell, and even if we were shoveling shit on the sidewalk, we’d still be the two most unbelievably fabulous women who ever lived.”

Addison laughs, and Amy soon joins in. Finally, Addie’s laughter subsides, and she sighs, relaxing into the couch. “You know, I had completely forgotten about the Elizabeth Blackwell Society until I got your email.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“God, those were some of the best times of my life! How could you have forgotten?”

“Time, I guess. Distance.”

“Do you remember having dinner with the guys and playing truth or dare into the wee hours of the morning?”

Addison squeals with delight, once again cackling with glee. “Yes! Josh prank-called the…”

“Skull and Bones house!” they finish together. Yes, on one memorable occasion, a disappointed Josh had phoned Skull and Bones Headquarters to demand his induction into the society. Of course, the answering machine picked up, and Josh left a disgruntled, drunken message. He regretted it the next morning, once he woke up, hung-over, on the floor of Amy’s apartment.

The girls are once again laughing their asses off, shaking their heads at the fond memory. They eventually regain their composure, and Addison reaches for her drink. She quirks her eyebrow at Amy before mischievously asking, “Truth or dare?”

Amy doesn’t react for a few moments, taken aback. “Truth,” she answers finally.

“Chicken.”

“Ask the question.”

“Did you and Josh ever hook up in college?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Not once.”

“After college?”

“Sorry,” Amy says, shrugging her shoulders. “My turn. Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Chicken,” Amy mocks. Addison rolls her eyes. “What’s the weirdest place you and Derek ever had sex?”

Addison scoffs. “That mother-fucking trailer.”

“What?” Amy laughs.

“When Derek Shepherd moved to Seattle, he bought an Airstream and---“

“No!”

“—moved into the woods so he could live deliberately.”

“And you…”

“Lived there for six months to fix a marriage that was already beyond repair.”

Amy contemplates this for a minute. “Wow.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I just can’t imagine Mr. and Mrs. Manhattan living in the woods.”

“Well, believe it.”

“Where are you living now?”

“Nope. Sorry. You’re up. Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“You can’t just keep picking truth! That’s not fair!”

“Addison, I can pick whatever I want. Now ask me the damn question.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

“Two months ago.”

“With who?”

“Would you please learn the rules of the fucking game? Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why’d you cheat on your husband?”

Well, that was the question, really, wasn’t it? And suddenly this innocent game of truth or dare had become the conversation that Addison had been trying to escape for so long. But now, confronted by her oldest, dearest friend, the truth seemed like the only appropriate answer.

“We screwed up. Somewhere along the line, we just decided we didn’t care anymore. And by the time we realized it, we’d already fallen in love with other people.”

“He’s in love?”

“Oh, yeah. Derek’s in…major love.”

Amy sets her glass down. “Who is she?”

“Sorry. I already let you get away with an extra question. Truth or dare?”

She sighs. “Truth.”

Last Addison heard, Amy and Josh were off-again once more. While she loved the idea of her two most volatile friends finding love and happiness together, she knew they were two explosive people who weren’t willing to compromise about anything.

Not that explosive was necessarily always a bad thing.

She had talked to Amy through a lot of the Josh saga. Amy loved when Josh was arrogant and boisterous. (Addison couldn’t recall a time when Josh Lyman wasn’t arrogant and boisterous.) Amy loved when Josh talked politics in bed. Amy loved that Josh was spontaneous and sexy, and she sometimes could be coaxed into giving details about an encounter on the kitchen floor.

Amy hated that there was daffodil body lotion under Josh’s sink that didn’t belong to her.

Nothing is off limits now, Addison has decided. So she goes for the big question. “But you did sleep with Josh a while back. You went everywhere together for, like, a year. Some might even call it a relationship.”

“Addie, none of those were questions.”

“Just how good was the sex?”

Amy throws her head back and rolls her eyes in disbelief.

“Did I freak you out?”

“No, I’m just trying to come up with an appropriate adjective.”

“Phenomenal? Sloppy? Sensual?”

“Explosive,” Amy decides.

“Seriously?”

“Best I ever had.”

“Wow.”

“It was the only thing we did well. And we did it really, really well.”

“What do you mean—the only thing?”

Amy opens her mouth to reply, but Addison stops her quickly.

“No more of this truth or dare bullshit,” Addison says. “It’s me you’re talking to. You can tell me.”

“Do you remember that Josh and I took the same summer internship after our second year of law school?”

Addison struggles for a moment to recollect the experience before finally nodding. “Yes.”

“Remember that we fought? Constantly? All the time?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how our relationship was. We were so bad at getting along. And I think, you know, we didn’t really want to try.” Amy shrugs and looks down into her glass. “It’s just what happens when the two most stubborn Type-As in Washington hook up.”

“I thought that if the two of you ever got together, that’d be it. Just…Josh and Amy Forever.”

“I guess, kind of, so did I. All through law school, I just kept waiting for it to happen. All those times that we’d be fighting, I was hoping he’d just start ripping my clothes off. I’d find myself thinking how easy it would be to just straddle him while he was sitting at my dining room table. And, let me tell you, when I eventually did just that, it was just as hot as I thought it would be. But that’s all it was. And when we started fighting about important stuff—marriage incentives in a Welfare Reform Bill, whether or not we should move in together—the whole fighting thing stopped turning me on and just started making me angry.”

“Wow.”

“Whatever. I don’t think about it much anymore.”

“Do you see him a lot? Just…around?”

“Sometimes. We’ll probably see him at the party.”

“What party?”

“If the bill passes, Feminist Majority will throw a huge party. Of course you’ll be there. If you’re still in Washington.”

“Oh. Cool.” Addison hasn’t given much thought to returning to Seattle, she just knows that she doesn’t want to it right now.

For Amy, it wasn’t cool. It would be the first time she’d see Josh since…

“So how is Josh?”

Amy looks away, mood officially killed. “He’s fine. Just got married.”

Yes. It would be the first time Amy would see Josh since he got married.

“Married?” Addie asks, quirking her eyebrow in a way that is so familiar to Amy. Addison has always had the most disarming mannerisms, she thinks. She quickly scans her memory for recent information she might have gathered on Josh Lyman. He’s a pretty visible guy, and he’s in the news, at least in passing, quite often. Not that Addison has time for news. Finally, she remembers a short CNN segment about the wedding. “That’s right. To the Press Secretary?”

“Donna Moss.”

“Josh Lyman, married. Weird.”

The two are quiet for a few moments, contemplating lost love, trying not to hate people who were obviously happily in love.

“So tell me about Derek’s new fling.”

Addison scoffs. “What sucks is that she’s not a fling.”

“He didn’t just meet her?”

“In Seattle. Before I got there…. He tried, Amy, he really did. It was over a long time ago, I think.”

“I’m so sorry, Addison. Seriously.”

“Me, too,” she says sadly.

“If you don’t mind me asking…what happened?”

The truth is, Addison doesn’t exactly know what happened. In the last few months, she’s seen Derek and Meredith together, and she doesn’t know what happened to their marriage. She used to believe in soul mates; now she’s not so sure. Because if there is such a thing as soul mates, then how can she turn Meredith Grey into the bad guy? She can’t, not if she’s supposed to believe that this young doctor is meant to be with her husband. Ex-husband. And if she herself is supposed to be Derek’s soul mate, then how come they aren’t together anymore?

Her life has become a swirl of confusion and hurt, and she’s lost.

“I used to think Derek was the perfect man for me. He balanced me out. I was everywhere, he was steady. I was loud, he was peaceful. And it just became…I was too everywhere, he was too peaceful. We frustrated each other. It hurt, because we just turned what we loved about each other against one another.”

She doesn’t blame Derek for falling in love with somebody else. Doesn’t stop it from hurting, though, when she thinks about the rumors she’s heard about him moving out of the trailer for her. And she knows that they’ll be happy together. They’ll have a big house and lots of babies and ground-breaking surgeries.

And she’ll still be ten years younger than he is, sweet and innocent and sickening. He’ll still be charming and sexy and downright…

“You know they call him Dr. McDreamy?”

“What?”

“Derek. They call him McDreamy.”

Amy ponders this for a moment before smirking. She’s gotten to the part of the evening where everything is hilarious. “I get that,” she concedes. “He is rather…McDreamy.”

---

Addison holds a coffee mug in her hand, her green robe warm against the chilly October morning. She sits at the island in Amy’s kitchen, thumbing through her Blackberry while Amy feeds Henry.

She glances at the calendar and can’t believe that she’s been in DC for three whole weeks. She’s calm for the first time in months, she realizes, having had time to think about what her next move will be. She’s been contemplating her first move as a divorcee. She’ll be moving back to Seattle soon. She has a contract and a new lease to fulfill, so paperwork has essentially made the decision for her.

She will fulfill her duties with dignity and poise, and once that’s completed, she’ll reassess.

“So are we going to this party tonight?” Amy asks tentatively, as she grabs an apple out of the refrigerator.

“Bet your ass.”

The Prenatal Healthcare Act is going to a floor vote today, and the Minority Whip’s office called last night to say that they’ve got a solid lock on it. It’s been three hard weeks, but Addison wouldn’t trade them for anything. She learned so much and feels, for the first time in a long time, that she’s really doing good. It has been an incredibly fulfilling three weeks for Addison Montgomery, and dammit, she will be dancing tonight.

“Are you trying to get out of it?” Addie asks.

“No,” Amy says emphatically, but not convincingly.

“You are! You don’t want to go!”

“I just…Josh,” she whines.

“Oh, my God.”

“I haven’t seen him since the wedding. I haven’t seen her...”

“You’re dreading seeing them together?”

“Yes! Of course I’m dreading seeing them together. They’re the new Beltway Power Couple and I hate it.”

“Amy, you cannot be that girl. This is your night and I refuse to allow you to skip out on your party because your ex rode to the prom with another girl.”

“Rumor has it the other girl is pregnant.”

“Really?” Addison asks, scandalized.

“Haven’t heard it from the horse’s mouth yet, but yeah.”

“Amy,” Addison mock-scolds, “There’s no reason to call Josh’s new wife a horse.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I know. Just teasing.”

What sucks for Amy is that she’s always known. When she and Josh were dating, she hated the daffodil body lotion because she knew whose it was. It wasn’t left over from an ex—it was Donna’s. Amy always knew that even though Josh and Donna’s relationship was platonic and unconsummated, it was complicated and loving. Josh had a devotion to Donna that he never had to Amy. She justified it by reminding herself that it was her who shared Josh’s bed.

It was Donna who had his heart. And, perhaps, his baby, growing inside of her right now, sprouting brown curly hair and an unprecedented political acumen.

She tries to remind herself that she didn’t want that. She loves her nephews, but loves being able to give them back to their parents once they get whiny or sticky. She just never knew that Josh wanted it. They’d never discussed it, not really, as they couldn’t even get past the move-in fight.

“You’re so much better than that, Amy,” Addison said, noticing the long pause and the sullen look on her friend’s face.

“Than what?”

“Than being angry. I was angry for a long time, but the divorce wasn’t anyone’s fault. Actually, if it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. Anger isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’re going to have to get over it sooner or later. And I think you’re over it for the most part.”

“I am absolutely over it.”

“Okay, then. So we’re going to the party?”

Amy takes a deep breath, grabs a Dasani out of the fridge and looks back up at her friend. “You bet.”

---

Addison could spot a pregnant woman from space, she imagines. She recognizes all of the tell-tale signs, and then she relies on her years of experience dealing with pregnant women.

Her unique ability to sense pregnancy tells her for certain when she walks into the party that Donna Lyman is, indeed, pregnant.

Her belly is protruding ever-so-slightly, she looks healthy and rosy, and she’s eating canapés by the handful. Addison is further convinced when a well-dressed but rumpled man sidles up beside Donna and wraps a protective arm around her waist, resting his hand flat against her belly.

The man, Donna’s husband and the White House Chief of Staff, gives Addison a confused look for a moment, taking only a few seconds to place her.

“Addison?” he asks incredulously. Donna’s head jerks up and follows her husband’s gaze.

“Josh Lyman,” she laughs, shaking her head. She strides over to meet the couple and Josh envelops her in a warm hug.

“Yeah, I heard you were working on the bill with Amy.”

Donna’s eyes flit back and forth quickly between Addison and Josh. Addison notices and surmises that Donna likes Amy about as much as Amy likes Donna.

There are a few moments of awkward silence before Josh touches a hand to his temple and laughs awkwardly. “I’m sorry. Addison Montgomery, this is Donna Moss-Lyman, my wife. Donna, this is Addison Montgomery. Addison is a Yale Med School grad.”

“Oh! Hi,” Donna says sweetly, reaching a hand out toward Addison. “Great work on the bill.”

“Thanks,” Addison beams with pride. She looks pointedly at Josh before saying, “Anything for the Elizabeth Blackwell Society.”

Josh laughs loudly before explaining, with a slightly revisionist twist, the Skull and Bones secret society debacle. He leaves out the prank calling incident and the vomit story. His wife gets a kick out of it.

Addison catches Amy’s eye from across the room. Amy’s chatting with a friend, but nods toward Addison, takes a deep breath, and politely excuses herself so she can join the conversation.

“Hey, Amy,” Donna says, lacing her fingers with Josh’s. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she sighs with a smile, glancing around the room for a waiter with a tray of champagne. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

Donna and Josh both smile like idiots at each other before graciously thanking Amy.

“Did you guys get married around here?” Addison small-talks.

“No, actually, we eloped,” Josh beams. “On the coast of Connecticut the weekend before Inauguration.”

“Wow. I’m really happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” Donna nods sincerely.

“What have you been up to? Heard you moved to Seattle.” Josh asks.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“How’s that going? How’s Derek?”

Amy tenses up for her friend’s sake, but Addison has gotten used to this. “He’s fine. We just got divorced, actually.”

Josh looks shocked for a moment, his mouth forming a perfect O as embarrassment crosses over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Addison says, dismissing the subject.

An awkward silence permeates the conversation for a few moments, before Josh once again steps up to fill the void. “So, guess what?” he asks, a smile returning to his face.

“What?” Addison asks.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he announces sweetly, placing a hand on Donna’s belly again as his bride blushes profusely.

Regardless of the issues Amy is facing, Addison can’t help but be touched by Josh’s expression. He seems so peaceful, she thinks, so content. More content that she had ever seen him in college or on C-SPAN. As a relatively unbiased source, Addison believes wholeheartedly that Josh Lyman is happy. And no one should stand in the way of that, or scoff at that, or doubt that.

Because just as she can tell that Donna Moss-Lyman is pregnant, she can also tell that Donna Moss-Lyman is well and truly loved.

Amy sees it, too. She tries not to, but she sees it.

“We knew it was really soon…the baby, I mean. We’ve only been together since November, but we just didn’t want to wait any longer, you know? We wanted to start our family as soon as possible,” Donna babbles, smiling up at Josh.

She used to think that Josh was on the same page as she was. That he wanted companionship and love, but not this saccharine domesticity. Turns out, she realizes, he just didn’t want saccharine domesticity with her.

And this realization sucks. Because before, she could blame failed relationship after failed relationship on the fact that she had found her one perfect person, but that it just plain and simple hadn’t worked out. Now, it’s painfully obvious that he was never her person to begin with. As she watches him stand adorably beside this woman, his wife, she knows that this is his person.

She shoves the canapé she’s holding into her mouth, an excuse for the tears that have suddenly appeared in her eyes.

“I’m really happy for you both,” she finally manages.

“Thank you,” Josh says.

“So, you’re really living the dream, aren’t you, Josh?” Addison chides. “Big-shot politician, got Matt Santos elected president…”

“I feel pretty good about myself,” Josh smirks, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets. “But look at you, Miss Famous Baby-Doctor.”

“I’m actually not a baby doctor,” she replies. “I’m an obstetric surgeon.”

“Right.”

“Excuse me,” Amy smiles. “I’m going to go get another drink. It was really good to see both of you.”

She walks away from the group and waits until she is around the corner before she stops, places a hand on the wall to steady herself, and takes several deep breaths.

She survived.

A waiter walks by with another tray of champagne, and Amy gratefully takes another glass. She sits down on a sofa and takes a sip of her drink.

She thinks about her conversation with the Lymans and remembers how happy they both looked. Donna had that whole pregnant-glow thing going on, and Josh was just beaming like he was the first man to ever get a girl knocked up. They really were happy, and there was no way she could fault them for that.

Maybe Josh wasn’t her person. Because, seriously, the way those two looked together—how could Donna not be his person? And if she herself wasn’t Josh’s person, then Josh couldn’t possibly be hers.

Right?

It makes sense in her head. It’s the first time she’s considered this particular possibility, and the realization is slightly freeing.

There could be somebody else out there for her. Her person could be waiting for her, actively pursuing her, and she just didn’t know about it yet. She’d been too busy hating Donna—who was actually perfectly nice—and, you know, working, to go out and find him herself. Blaming Josh for forgetting about being her person was the easiest thing to do.

She contemplates soul mates and the fact that Josh Lyman is going to be a father for a few more minutes before returning to the party with a renewed spirit.

She sees Addison flirting with Congressman Patrick Mitchell (D-OR) and smiles. She catches Addison’s eye and gives her a subtle thumbs-up. Addison blushes profusely, her face getting almost as red as her hair.

“You go girl!” Amy mouths, and Addison turns her attention back to the Congressman.

He’s nice and handsome and powerful, but he’s not the one. This much Addison can tell. He’s not witty or particularly incredible, but he’s charming. She’s attracted to him, and that’s something. After so long, she was concerned she didn’t know how to feel attraction anymore. She worried she’d never be able to move on. She thinks maybe she’s ready now. Not with Congressman Mitchell and certainly not with Mark, but in general.

With somebody.

Just because Derek is over doesn’t mean life is. Just because her marriage is over doesn’t mean she can’t have another one sometime.

In the future. A long time from now.

Spending all this time with Amy has taught her the value of friendship—life isn’t all about work and surgery and…pain. Seattle is still a sad place for her, but she thinks she’s ready to go back. She’s done good here, she knows, and it’s been nice to be away from the OR for a few weeks.

But Seattle Grace is where she belongs. She belongs in the operating room, commanding a surgery, saving lives.

She’s Addison Montgomery, and she is a surgeon.

Addison excuses herself from the conversation and heads over to where Amy stands, chatting idly with a colleague from Feminist Majority.

“You drunk yet?” Amy jokes.

“No. You?”

“I’m getting there.”

“You okay?”

Amy thinks about the question for a while before looking her friend directly in the eye. “Yeah. I am okay.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay?”

Addison smiles. “I will be.”

“Did you get Mitchell’s number?”

She laughs. “No.”

“You’re not going to tap that?”

“I don’t think so. The whole politico-in-a-power-suit is really more your type.”

“Touché.”

“I’m just saying--”

“We’re pretty fabulous, aren’t we?” Amy asks abruptly.

“Yeah, we are.”

“I think that’s enough for now.”

Confusion washes over Addison’s face. “I don’t understand.”

“We don’t have husbands. We don’t even have boyfriends. Hell, we’re probably not even going home with anyone tonight--”

“I really don’t think it’s that kind of party.”

“Well, it should be. Look, my point is, we don’t have any of those things, but we’re still pretty fabulous.”

“I think Elizabeth Blackwell would be proud.”

“Yes, she would be.”

“You know she never got married?”

“Shut up, Addison. Never forget--fabulous.”