Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟱𝟱 blood diamond

"Hey-"

...

He awoke with a start.

Mark's heart was beating a little too quickly for just a nap. He let out a sound that was not far from a death rattle. His body jerked halfway out of his chair, chin lifting at the sound of the voice that roused him. 

His eyes opened to the sight of the hospital room he'd been in a lot lately— the patient room materialised in front of him, the plain walls, the beeping machine telling him the patients heart rate, the coffee that was being thrust in front of his face. He knew this room well. 

He'd spent the last week roughing it and waiting for his life to snap back into shape.

He yawned, blinking away the dream he'd just been submerged in. 

Dream? It was probably a nightmare. 

It'd been a reoccurring thing for him lately. 

A gun, a BANG and then the rushing feeling of a death that was too soon.

Mark blinked at the coffee in front of him.

"Thanks." 

His voice was hoarse, catching at the back of his throat as he took the beverage. There was a brief pause, the woman who had woken him hesitated. Mark glanced up at her, brow furrowing as he realised that she was holding a newspaper.

Meredith Grey looked as though she hadn't slept in a long time. She moved too slowly, drawing the newspaper out and unfolding it. She paused, still hesitating. 

There were dark grooves under her eyes from where she had tossed sleeplessly in her empty double bed that she was supposed to share with Derek. Her chapped lips pursed and she seemed to debate with herself. 

Silently, she turned and tossed it in the trash can beside her husband's hospital bed.

"You should stop staying here all night." 

Meredith turned away from Mark, looking back towards Derek as he slept. The expression on the neurosurgeon's face was peaceful. Mark eyed him, watching as he blissfully slept under the weight of the painkillers they'd been pumping into him. He almost felt bad envying him— Mark hadn't had a good nights sleep for a few days. 

"You're going to get a cramp."

"I don't mind," He stretched against the uncomfortable chair. It was making his muscles cramp, wreaking havoc on every inch of him. He rubbed his neck and stifled a yawn. "I've been on-call all week. It's either this or a bed downstairs."

When he moved, he felt the small object against his thigh pocket dig into his leg, as if to remind him that it was still there. How dumb that thought was. 

Sometimes, Mark couldn't stop thinking about it.

There was a brief moment in which Meredith gazed over at him, an eyebrow gently raising. She tilted her head to the side, noticing the tiredness that still lingered in his eyes. He'd fallen asleep sat up, head slumped on his shoulders and ankles crossed. He was in his scrubs. 

Come to think of it, Meredith didn't think she'd seen him in anything other than scrubs. 

He only existed in scrubs now.

She hadn't seen him outside of Derek's hospital room either. He'd stuck to his best friend as soon as he'd seen Derek roll out of surgery. 

He'd begun only existing within visiting hours, but even then, they'd all managed to slip in between the cracks and set up a permanent residence at the foot of Derek's bed. He was a permanent fixture like any of the other furniture in this hospital. He'd claimed the chair that he'd ended up sleeping in every night for the past few days.