You Promised | Mark Sloan ✓

24┃just like paint

"Well, Norah will be thanking her," Derek replied without an ounce of comfort. "You know she hates plastics."

Mark nodded at his curiously oblivious friend.

❦ ❦ ❦

"GOOD MORNING, DR HAHN," Norah greeted as the attending walked over to her.

"Great, you're already here. But there's no good morning in a hospital," she stated, "I have a page to the ER. Let's go."

Norah followed Hahn to the ER, and they entered one of the trauma rooms, where Cristina had already started on the patient. They hurriedly put on their gloves while receiving an update from the resident in the room.

"Teresa Brotherton. Lost vitals and coded," Cristina informed, "I needled a tension pneumo on the right side. She regained vitals."

"She's got so much air in the soft tissues. It's obscuring the ultrasound," Hahn stated while Norah stood on her tip-toes to look at the patient. "Probably punctured an airway as well as her lung," the attending noted. "Feel that?"

Cristina was about to feel the patient when Hahn snapped at her, "I was talking to Lawrence. We've got it from here, Dr Yang."

Norah stared at the attending, then at Cristina, who looked furious. The former mouthed a 'sorry' to the latter, who shook her head and exited the trauma room.

❦ ❦ ❦

"SINUS RHYTHM," NORAH informed after cross-clamping the patient's aorta. "The heart's responding."

Hahn nodded. "Alright, that's twice in two hours this woman had died," she stated. "Let's pick up the pace, everyone. The lesser time she's on the table, the better," she lifted her eyes to Norah, "Quite a rush, huh?"

The resident nodded with a shrug. "Quite."

"Ever thought of cardiothoracic as a specialty, Lawrence?" Hahn queried.

Norah lifted her head briefly to the attending before looking back at the open heart. "I'm open to all options, Dr Hahn."

Hahn glanced up at the gallery, where Cristina and Mark were sitting side-by-side as they observed the surgery. "From what I've heard, all except plastics," she mentioned. "Any particular reason?"

Norah furrowed her brows at the attending's words-what was this woman's deal?

"Lack of interest," the resident responded. "I believe that if I choose something I dislike for the rest of my career, it wouldn't be the best care for the patients."

Hahn nodded approvingly. "I'm liking you already."

But I still don't like you. Of course, Norah was smart enough not to say that out loud.

Up in the gallery, Mark shook his head with a sigh. "She's obnoxious, sometimes."

"Obnoxious and sassy," Cristina corrected with a huff.

"But look at the way her hands work. It's so..."

"Precise."

"Yeah, and quick."

"But careful."

"She's perfect for plastics."

Cristina narrowed her eyes and turned her head to Mark, who still had his gaze fixed down the OR. "Are we talking about the same person?" she questioned, raising a brow.

"I heard that you were shot the same night Burke did," Hahn's voice echoed through the speaker.

Mark's back straightened as he leaned forward near the window, his brows furrowed. He watched as Norah paused for a slight second as she lifted her eyes to the cardiothoracic attending, but he could not figure her expression under her mask.

"Oh, we are so not talking about the same person," Cristina grumbled with a sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I was," Norah replied. "But I don't remember much of it. Trauma response."

Standing on the opposite side of Hahn, the resident tried to avoid lengthening that topic of conversation. She never wanted to talk about it. Hence, she lowered her eyes back down to Teresa's heart, but her eyes caught the sight of her hands.

Red.

She shook off the familiar jittery feeling rising in her chest, reminding herself about the mornings she spent in her apartment kitchen. The effort she put into overcoming her freeze in ORs, the daily jokes about how she was not a secret murderer spilling blood in her apartment-Mark's stare and that smile on his face.

Paint. It was just like the paint.

And it worked.

❦ ❦ ❦

JOE'S BAR WAS CROWDED, just like any other day. Mark had finally convinced Norah for a drink that night, and the only reason she agreed was that she did need a drink after the surgery that evening.

Two glasses of scotch and whisky sat next to each other; the owner of the drinks sat by the corner of the bar counter.

"Hahn shouldn't have mentioned the shooting."

"It's fine. I'm good, really," Norah shrugged as Joe refilled their glasses, and she muttered a 'thank you' to him. "I didn't freeze, not anymore," she grinned, "I'm past my whole 'freezing-in-the-OR' phase."

He shook his head. "Still, that woman must have some kind of common sense before-"

"Mark," she cut him off, "It was just like the paint in the kitchen. It helped. Now, would you be the one who stops freaking out?"

He thought for a moment before leaning his head to her. "I would if you'd let me kiss you right here and now-"

"For the love of god-"

She grabbed him by his chin and turned his face away; he grinned like a child while pulling her barstool closer to him. She stumbled slightly but managed to catch herself before she could fall towards his chest. He groaned at his failed attempt.

❦

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE bar, Timothy was sitting near Lexie as the latter ranted to the barman.

"I told her I could draw with an etch-a-sketch. Of all the things I could've chosen, I-" she ranted with a sigh, "No wonder she thinks I'm pathetic."

"Personally, I think that's fucking cool," Timothy voiced out, taking a sip of his bourbon. "The only other person I knew could draw with an etch-a-sketch was a genius. To me, at least."

"I feel pathetic," Lexie grumbled.

"No, you're not," he chuckled, "You're from Harvard, too, weren't you?" She nodded, and he grinned. "Ah, knew I recognised you. You were quite a talk in our year."

"Really? I never knew," she raised a brow at him, "What was I the talk for? The pathetic little girl who cries whenever she gets an A-minus in her tests?"

He snickered and shook his head while she looked at him curiously. He finished his drink, stepped down from the barstool and shrugged on his jacket. "You're smart, and beautiful. Need I say more?"

Lexie watched as Timothy walked towards the door, stopping shortly behind Norah to give her a sharp push towards the plastic surgeon, who caught her in his arms amusingly. Norah snapped her head to her brother, but Timothy had already hurried out of the bar.

She sighed in frustration before ordering more drinks to drown her mind in.