Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟱𝟰 dead on arrival

𝙇𝙄𝙑.
DEAD ON ARRIVAL

──────

NEW YORK

Her hand was shaking, he could see it out of the corner of his eye.

Mark's attention was supposed to be dedicated to the road in front of him. 

He was supposed to be concentrating but the subtle movement of her fingers was enough to distract him. He found himself glancing at them in regular intervals, his jaw locking as the car came to a halt once again in the traffic. A gentle press on the breaks and he was just gazing over at her pale face as it was illuminated by the low moon.

"You okay?"

Beth's nod was gentle. 

Her body was slumped to one side, elbow propped against the window as she rested her cheek. She was chewing on her bottom lip, staring vacantly out the front of the car. The hand continued to twitch on her thigh, resting just beneath a stretch of ripped fabric. Ever so often, Beth would exhale and her whole body would rise and fall. 

Mark just nodded slowly and turned his attention back to the busy street.

In his peripheral, he watched the brake lights from passing cars streak across her face, lighting the sadness that swam in her eyes. 

The radio was playing classical music. It was sombre and not particularly helping the mood; he felt inclined to change it but he couldn't find the energy to. There was a damper in the mood, one that was draining everything out of him. He let out a breath as he indicated down a street and turned.

"I wish we could've..."

Beth started speaking. Her voice was quiet. Everything was so quiet. 

He shot a glance over at her. She was shaking her head slowly. The overhead street lights illuminated the dried blood on her hands. Beth seemed to be unable to translate her thoughts into words. 

Mark just swallowed the lump in his throat.

"There must have been..." She took a deep breath, sliding a little lower in the passenger seat of his car. "There must have been something else that we could've done."

Mark didn't look over at her. He didn't need to. 

He knew exactly what she was talking about. His pants, his jeans, were still slightly damp around the knees and calves. He stared at the blood under his fingernails, a muscle jumping in his jaw. As Beth pensively trembled beside him, he just accelerated a little.

"We tried our best," He sounded quiet too. Beth seemed to flinch at the sound. Her head turned away from him and she looked out of the passenger window, eyes flickering over the passing buildings, cars and people. "There wasn't anything we could've done."

Another nod. It was careful, slow and Mark could tell that she didn't believe him.

"It's part of the job, Beth," he was using the tone he'd use with a patient. He was talking softly. Beth tensed slightly. She could tell. It was the voice reserved for difficult conversations. "Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose—"

"It's not a game," Her voice was slightly cold. "It's that mans life."

When Mark blinked he saw the man, face-down on the street in Brooklyn. They'd been leaving the liquor store when it happened. He'd been holding the door open for Beth and saying something naturally witty. 

He'd seen him fall out of the corner of his eye but he hadn't heard the gunshot. 

A car had gone rocketing down the street. There had been a few outcries, people who had witnessed it, seen the man in full view— Mark had just gripped the bag in his hand a little tighter. Beth had been the one to run towards the victim on the sidewalk.

"We did everything we could," His voice was a little bit more strained. Mark just wanted a nice shower. He wanted to get into bed and pretend that this hadn't happened. They'd been having such a good day and then one bullet had come along and ruined it. "I wish it could be different but it's not."

Beth didn't reply. Her hand was still trembling. 

She looked awfully pale in the night. Slowly, Mark took his hand off of the steering wheel and gently reached over, clutching her fingers. The moving stopped, her breathing hitched. For a second, he thought that she was going to pull away.

But then she laced her fingers with his and squeezed firmly as if Mark was the only thing tethering her to the planet.

"We made the right call... right?"

The question was veiled. Mark could only pause. 

Beth's eyes settled on him, watching the vein throb in his forehead, his chin tilt downwards and shoulders hunch. All he do was bite back the shudder that threatened to run down his body.

"I keep thinking..." Her voice was breathy. Her brow was scrunched up into lines that were too deep on such a young face. "I keep thinking-- what if we were wrong? What if there was something we could've done. What if... what if we made the wrong call?"

She was asking whether they'd been right to give up. She was asking him whether they'd made the right call to stand back and call time of death while he finished bleeding out on the floor. Mark found it very hard to answer, but he did eventually. 

It wasn't an easy answer to find. 

Mark chewed the inside of his cheek, avoiding the image of Beth hanging her head over a corpse at the back of his head and nodded.

"We did everything we could with what we had..." He said quietly. "We made the right call."