Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟴𝟵 grieving for the living

He was, emotionally, perpetually stuck outside, on that street with Lexie Grey, stooped against the sidewalk and wondering how exactly the world could keep going when he was still stuck in place. 

He walked through the rest of his work day, completing successful surgeries, all while mentally still caught in the heat of three words. 

He could remember the expression on Lexie's face so vividly, the torture in her eyes as they both processed what had just passed. 

She'd hugged her knees to her chest and laboured over it, over how something so major could happen to someone and yet, outside, it would be as if nothing had happened in the first place––

"Hey, Romeo!"

Just like the first time, Mark faced it with his hand reaching for his apartment door. 

He'd been stuck to the floor, lost in thought as he avoided looking at the neighbours. 

It lurked in the corner of his eye, something that he knew was there but he just couldn't–– he wouldn't–– and then he realised someone was talking to him.

It took him longer than he would've liked to admit, to realise that Amelia was standing in the hallway. 

She'd just left the very apartment he was avoiding, leaving Mark with the sour taste of deja vu in his mouth. (He'd seen this exchange before. Him, disoriented, mouth dry and head heavy. A passerby, closing that door and turning to look at him. Last time he'd handed over an engagement ring. This time, Mark got the feeling he'd be handing over his sanity.) 

She gave him a slight smile, one that Mark couldn't quite place on her face. 

Hands shoved in her pockets, Amelia approached him, the sound of her feet thudding against the carpeted floor echoing around his head–– 

Mark's head turned so gently, as if he was worried any movement would cause him intense pain.

Under these lights, Amy didn't look like the same person he'd seen just a few hours ago. 

They hadn't seen each other after the meeting with Derek and Mark hadn't responded to Amy's calls. She'd sent him messages, asking what had happened and whether Derek knew where Beth was, all until she'd gotten the silent message and stopped trying. 

(Mark guessed he'd stopped trying too. He'd simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, done his damn job and gotten on with his day as if nothing had happened.) 

Just as he'd been acting all day, Amy looked at him as if they hadn't spent their morning in shared stress–– she approached him like a carefree, old friend.

The youngest Shepherd's head jerked in the direction of the apartment that she'd just left.

"Juliet wants a chat."

Mark supposed that, if today had gone differently, he would have chuckled at that joke. 

Maybe he would have even sighed, rolled his eyes and shook his head at Amy's nonchalance.

 She had this slightly amused glimmer in her eye, but alongside what looked like a very deep stress; Mark's brow crumpled and his eyes flickered, momentarily, towards Beth's apartment door. 

Instead of any form of amusement or exasperation, Mark was just frozen to the spot, just as he was frozen in time.

There was a weight in Amy that only seemed to weigh him down further. 

He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way that she seemed unable to stand still. Again, he looked over at the door. It was something he'd been trying to avoid thinking about by throwing himself back into his work: what exactly was happening behind that closed door.