Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟱𝟴 i could never give you peace

He'd watched the realisation dawn on her face as he started speaking. It was a pretty shit realisation to have; the shift in her eyes, the purse of her lips and the way she'd scowl and start gathering her things from across his apartment. Mark would have to stand there, like a lighthouse in the middle of a tumbling sea, consumed by the fierceness of a woman scorned.

Just before they slammed the door, they'd look back at him with malice in their eyes.

"Asshole," They'd scoff and then the walls would tremble with the force of their rage.

Mark tended to ignore it. Just like everything else that was buzzing around his mind.

During his escapades in Seattle, he'd gotten smart. 

After a nurse-coupe years ago when he'd been making his way through the female staff, he'd finally realised that maybe sleeping with your colleagues was not the way to go. Teddy, in a way, had been the final nail in the coffin— she wasn't speaking to him now and seemed to reserve all conversation into sharp looks that told him she really wasn't over the whole-stabbing-Beth-in-the-chest-thing (which in all honesty, he wasn't entirely over either). 

So he'd started looking elsewhere. He was now a regular in Joe's, entering the bar with the intention of not leaving alone; it made him feel like an asshole, but after a while he'd figured that the shoe fit.

Looks like an asshole, walks like an asshole, quacks like an asshole, right?

During the day, he was busy. He was back in surgery, busy as patients started to look past what had happened. Things felt normal. He was working on all of his cases, steaming through days with reckless abandon and keeping just busy enough for him to avoid tricky little thoughts. In fact, Mark was sure that this was the hardest he'd worked since his residency back in New York.

"I'm impressed," Andrew had said during his last session. 

The psychiatrist had sat at Katherine Wyatt's old desk and given him an earnest smile. Mark had leant heavily in his chair but knew that Andrew had good reason to be impressed. He'd worked hard to get back into surgery. 

"You've really made good progress," The shrink said with a nod, "Good job, Mark."

Things were normal. It felt like how it had been when he'd first arrived in Seattle, past Addison and past the whole divorce, before Beth had arrived and before he'd loved Lexie a little bit too much. Mark was counting his blessings— things were back to normal! 

Sure, his coping methods were unconventional at best, but they were working. He almost didn't think about--

Beth.

Mark thought he was hallucinating.

A ghost was stood in the next room over.

He'd never really believed in ghosts. He'd never been particularly spiritual or religious, never been particularly sold on the whole supernatural thing either— but he could've sworn that he was having some sort of experience. 

He could've sworn that his mind was playing tricks on him, or maybe he'd accidentally taken something and was now staring at something his mind had just picked out of the back of his brain.

Beth.

Beth was stood in the next room over.

He blinked, thinking that maybe it was just the shift sinking into him— maybe he'd been up for too long and his brain wasn't adjusting well? Maybe it was the lack of sleep he'd been having lately? Maybe he was projecting— either way, he could have sworn that she was stood there.