Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬18 death before dishonour

I smiled in relief; it wasn't necessarily good nor necessarily bad. It was a small amount of hope, that was all that counted.

I heard the sound of an ambulance siren in the background and realised that maybe I was keeping him away from his work asking so many questions.

"I don't know actually," He added after a pause, "she might be, I haven't gone back up there since this morning. But- uh, I told Bailey about the army..."

I leant forward in anticipation. "And?"

"She's angry." He admitted slowly.

I let out a breath loudly through my nose and closed my eyes tightly.

Of course, Miranda Bailey wouldn't understand.

"She thinks I'm, uh, signing my own death wish?" George said, "I just, I don't know really—"

"George, it's okay-"

"No, it's not okay." He interjected sharply as if he'd grown accustomed to how people's minds worked. I paused, giving him his space. "I know what I want to do, you know? I want to do something important, I'm good at Trauma, and I want to do something that's really going to help on a bigger scale. I know what I want to do. Other people can't understand that, but that's okay because I'm the one whose going to pursue it, not them."

I smiled. Damn, this kid was giving me a run for my money.

"Do you want to get lunch?" I asked softly, looking over at the clock by Meredith's TV. It was nearly two pm, but that didn't matter, I knew surgical residents didn't take traditional lunch hours anyway. I definitely hadn't eaten anything—I looked over at the empty can of frosting pointedly.

I wanted to lend George some moral support, some comfort. Not as a psychologist, but as a friend. I didn't get to do that often and I was damn good at it.

"Sure." George smiled in his reply, I could tell.

***

The delicatessen that I'd arranged to meet George at was a ten-minute walk from the Hospital and was situated on a street corner.

It had been recommended to me by the bartender of Joe's, the bar across the street from Seattle Grace and I'd found it to be one of the best places to buy lunch when I was too busy or lazy to make food myself.

I was stood outside on the street corner, with my hands on my hips and my hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight that it was practically one of the only things that were keeping me awake.

I'd shrugged on a blouse that I was sure I hadn't worn since Toronto, donned my trusty casual-but-dressy-brunch-sorta short heels and taken a short bus ride from Meredith's house into downtown Seattle. In one hand, I gripped my purse and in the other, I clutched my phone with a slightly cracked manicure.

I hummed lightly, looking down at the time on my phone; George was five minutes late, but that was totally understandable. I understood how crazy it was to work a Hospital and how difficult it was to actually get away from work when it kept on constantly piling up on top of you.

I could envision him, frustrated and out of breath, attempting to peel himself away from some intense surgical deep dive, just for a few moments of air.

In the meantime, I had a lot to amuse myself; not only was I still waiting for Addison to return my calls, but I also had the whole of Seattle in front of me. It was a city that was like nothing I'd ever known and (for one of the first times since I'd arrived) it was actually sunny.

I stretched my head back, feeling the warmth of the sun caress my face; maybe George being late wouldn't be too bad. The weather channel had forecasted sudden sunshine, something that was quick and just passing through; maybe it was good that I had this opportunity to appreciate it while it lasted.