S6 EP1&2
- DAY 1 -
THE NIGHT THAT GEORGE died, everyone was... quiet. There was a different layer of tension in the hospital's air, glazed with grievance and mourning.
Norah had most of her tears cried out in the stairwell, in Mark's arms. Right now, she sat in the middle of his hotel room in one of her college hoodies. Her head clouded with one thought, one question: Why?
She could not understand why George would jump in front of a bus for a complete stranger. She could not understand why people she grew fond of would end up dying and leaving her. But above all, she could not understand why everything could change within a blink of an eye.
Mark sat down beside her, his hair still damp. He drew his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knee, studying her expression. She tilted her head to him with her brows furrowed.
"Are you copying me?" she queried, seeing the similarities of the form they were seated in.
"Maybe?" he responded, and she rolled her eyes at him with a light smile on her face.
She turned her head back to look forward. "Just yesterday, we were all bickering over who stole who's food, and now... Now, we're all... mourning?" she shook her head, "George is gone, and he's not coming back... How do things change so suddenly?"
"The world isn't friendly, Laurie. Not at all," he sighed, reaching for her hand that clenched into a tight fist. She slowly loosened her hand, and he held hers in his.
Her other hand fiddled with the string on her hoodie. "People leave, and people die," she stated out rather straightforwardly, "I call that a cycle of life."
"Well, you're in luck, because I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere," Mark lowered his head to her and placed a kiss on her lips, "Now let's get some sleep, hm?"
He stood from the carpeted floor and pulled her up with him. They walked over to the bed with her dragging her steps.
She snuggled close to him, laying her head on his chest while his hand rested on her back. The rhythm of his heartbeat had never failed to calm her and to soothe her.
"You'll never go anywhere?"
"I promise."
"I love you, Mark."
"I love you more, Laurie. Goodnight."
❦ ❦ ❦
- DAY 7 -
EVERYONE WERE DRESSED in black as they stood under the shades of the tall trees in the cemetery.
They listened quietly to the priest as he recited. The woman, who George saved from the bus, was crying. Norah refrained from punching her to shut her up as she stared at the roses on top of his-
Coffin.
Even the word made her chest tight. It was like she was nine all over again. Standing under the shades in a black dress, she remembered hearing the priest mumbling words that her mind would never register.
Back then, she did not know what it meant when her dad told her that mummy was gone. But now, the knowing of the death of her friend made her feel everything.
Mark was silently checking on her, eyeing her every now and then; she knew it, of course, he would.
Next to her stood Timothy, with Lexie on his other side. Her eyes were red from crying, and all he could do was comfort her. Timothy was great with words, just like his sister. But when it comes to comforting a crying person, his mind would sometimes go blank.
―
"George O'Malley, I'll be waiting for your stories when you return."
"I'll be sure to remember the most gruesome ones."
"See you, George."
"I'll see you soon."
―
"Are you okay? Do you need a wheelchair?" she heard Alex ask Izzie, who was standing near her. Izzie had a hand covering her mouth, her head lowered.
She turned and walked away, her steps heavy but quick. As Alex walked off after her, Meredith, Cristina and Norah followed suit.
The boyfriends-and one husband-of the three women shared a worried look before they turned their heads back front to listen to the rest of the service.
The four of them found Izzie sitting on the ground, her hands covering her face. Alex and Cristina each sat next to her. Meredith stood aside while Norah leaned against the trunk of a tall tree.
"I'm sorry," Izzie finally spoke-in a chuckle.
Meredith stared at her, puzzled. "You're laughing?"
"She's laughing," Alex confirmed, and Cristina went speechless.
Izzie continued breaking into laughter. "George... George is dead," she cackled, "He's dead. They're about to put him in the ground, and the priest is doing classic rock lyrics, and that girl, that redhead, is crying harder than his mother-and she never even met him!"
All of them erupted into a muffled laugh, with Izzie still laughing uncontrollably. "I so wanted to punch her, oh god," Norah admitted with a chuckle, "Then maybe she can take the space next to George."
Her jokes-at-an-inappropriate-timing was kicking in harder than she realised, and she had to cover her hand over her mouth to stop herself from wheezing out.
"Okay, you two are far more twisted than I ever realised," Cristina deadpanned, staring between the two.
"And you got married on a Post-It," Izzie pointed at Meredith, and this time, everyone burst out laughing.
"I got married on a Post-It-I did."
"And you guys got married for real," Cristina joined in, staring at Alex and Izzie.
"I know!" Izzie was laughing hysterically, "And I got cancer! What?"
"Dude, and O'Malley got hit by a bus," Alex added, and everyone ended up guffawing.
Norah could feel the tears coming out of her eyes from all the laughing. Oh god, such inappropriate.
The people who were walking past them were staring at them like they had gone mad-and maybe they had.
―
"I guess this is our farewell, huh?"
"Nah, this is only our first goodbye."
―
And when it finally hit them, it hit them hard-
George O'Malley was dead.
He got hit by a bus.
And they were all howling in laughter.
❦ ❦ ❦
- DAY 11 -
THE CHIEF HAD GIVEN THEM a few days off after the funeral. However, after three days of sitting around her apartment and staring at the empty ceiling, Norah felt like she was about to bore herself to death.
To her left, the clock displayed 5:03 a.m.; to her right, Mark was sleeping soundly after finishing his shift at two in the morning. There were quiet sounds coming from outside that raised her curiosity.
She slowly shrugged herself out of his arms, careful not to wake him while he stirred in the bed. "What time is it?" he asked groggily, his hand tugging against the sleeve of her hoodie.
"Still early. Go back to sleep, Mark." She gave him a quick kiss before getting out of bed, covering the duvet over his shirtless body. He stirred before pulling her pillow to his chest, and he fell back into a deep slumber.
Tying her hair up into a messy bun, Norah got greeted by a strong aroma that made her tummy grumble. Timothy stood with his back facing her while shifting from one leg to another; one hand rested on his hip, and he held a spatula in another. Lexie had her face buried in her arms as she sprawled across the kitchen island.
"Hey, morning, you two," Norah spoke, causing the both of them to turn to her.
"Still couldn't sleep, huh?" Timothy asked as his sister sat next to Lexie.
"Nope," she sighed, "I'm heading to the hospital today. To work."
"You sure that's a good idea?" he questioned, "You haven't cried since the funeral." Lexie stiffened at the mention of it, then she sighed and buried her face back in her arms. "Sorry, Lex."
"There's no need to cry. George... He died a hero," Norah muttered. That was something that she had repeated in her head, reminding herself that her friend's death was a brave sacrifice.
She walked over to the stoves, watching the sizzling pan and grilling cheese. "Are you making extra? I'm hungry."
Timothy cocked a brow at her, shooing her from touching the pan. "How do you think you had breakfast waiting for you every fucking morning?" he scoffed lightly, "Go sit the fuck down. Don't interrupt my cooking."
"Asshole."
"Bitch-ow!"
Lexie narrowed her eyes at the two siblings with a sigh. Norah slid a box of juice over to her, then tossed another to her brother; Timothy caught the small box before it hit his head while he flipped the bacon in the pan.
"I really like your sibling relationship," Lexie stated as she slurped on the juice box.
"That's kinda what you get when you're lucky enough to get adopted together," Norah shrugged.
"They wanted me. You were a tag-along-ow, ow, okay, stop!" Timothy hissed in pain, rubbing the back of his head. He pointed the spatula at his sister with his eyes narrowed. "No bacon for you."
"Lexie, lecture him for me, would ya?" Norah asked, scowling at her brother.
Lexie chuckled at them, shaking her head. "Oh, I have a better idea," she sent him an evil grin, "You just wait, Timmy."
❦ ❦ ❦
- DAY 13 -
MARK STOOD IN FRONT OF the door displaying '502', knocking on it with his fist. "Open up!" he called out in the quiet corridor before pounding on the door again, "Open the door, Torres!"
There was still no response from inside, which caused him to continue hammering his fist on the door. "Open the door, or I'll keep knocking and potentially damage my multi-million dollar hands-"
The door finally unlocked, and Callie stepped out, her face covered with her tears and the corridor filled with her sobs.
"My ex-husband died. H-He died-he actually got hit by a bus," she cried, "George got hit by a bus, and now I have to get a new job, and I'm never gonna see my friends anymore-and Arizona keeps bringing me donuts!"
Mark narrowed his eyes at her as she fell into his chest. He held her close as she cried in his chest. Down the corridor, the sound of indistinct chatters caught his attention.
"This place for sale? It's nice," he spoke, looking at the room that was getting renovated. The worker in the room eyed them, puzzled, and nodded before returning to his work.
Mark took a good look at the interior. It was a spacious area-bright grey walls and tall ceilings. He could almost imagine how good and cozy it would be with some warm lights and furniture...
Callie lifted her head from his chest, "What?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. Shhh..."
❦ ❦ ❦
- DAY 21 -
IT FELT LIKE IT HAD BEEN forever since Norah sat by the counter in Joe's bar.
The glass of whisky in her hand was her fifth one, but she could barely feel the alcohol in her system. She debated whether to switch to tequila but decided against it when she felt a chill down her neck.
His soft, wet kisses trailed up her neck to the back of her ear. "Happy birthday, Laurie," Mark whispered before catching her lips with his. "I haven't seen you the whole day," he stated, taking the seat next to her.
"Just wanted to drown myself in surgeries on my last day as a second-year resident," she shrugged, "But I guess now, I'm drowning myself in booze."
He pulled her barstool closer to him, but this time she caught herself from stumbling onto his chest. "Remember this exact day, a year ago?" he lowered his voice.
"You mean the part where I told you we're better off as friends, then you kissed me, wet?" she recalled, then sent him a glare, "And then you left."
"I left because I didn't want myself falling for you," he proclaimed.
She cocked a brow at him with a smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah? And how did that work out?"
A smile grew on his face as his finger gently caressed the side of her neck; her cold skin felt warm under his touch. His gaze left the pair of hazels and travelled down to the hand tracing on his thigh.
"That definitely did not work out for either of us," he answered truthfully. She rolled her eyes at him before clinking their glasses, and they each took a large sip off their drinks. "I've settled my new apartment," he stated as he placed down his glass.
"Ooh, the one opposite Call-"
"Move in with me."
She lifted her eyes to him-his that never left hers-blue and hazel staring into each other. "You're already staying at my apartment nearly six days a week," she raised a brow at him.
"I like your apartment, of course," he stated with a smile, "But I want a place where we live together without your brother or being a crash site for the other residents-I want a place for you and me."
He could see from her eyes that she was hesitating, but this step he was taking, he was sure about it-he was certain. "Just us and only us."
His soft words melted in her head. She tilted her head, a smile escaping her lips. "Do I get to pick the colour of the pillows?"
"You can pick out everything in our apartment," he replied with a soft laugh, "What do you say?"
The answer was easy, really.
"I say..." She drank the last of her drink, setting the glass down on the countertop. She pulled against his leather jacket, and he stared at her, his mind running wild. "You are coming over and helping me pack right now."
"Right now?" he asked, slipping some cash under his glass before hurrying off after her.
"Okay, fine. Maybe not now now."
They stepped into the windy night where people were still walking on the streets, bars and pubs had neon lights on. Norah had accidentally bumped into someone, in which she quickly apologised while Mark laughed at her.
"Have I told you how much I love you?"
"Not today, nope."
He shook his head with a chuckle. "I love you so much."
"I love you more."
"Impossible."
Under the row of streetlights, their hands linked as she walked in front, pulling him from behind. An excited grin was on her face and a warming one on his.
He could spend the rest of his life like this.
He would.
❦ ❦ ❦
"BLUE PILLOWS ARE nicer."
"No, the red ones are fluffier."
"Please-you only want the red ones because it adds sexual energy to your living room."
"Our living room-and I mean, you're not wrong."
Norah and Mark were each carrying boxes of their stuff as they walked down the corridor. The process of moving their stuff from Norah's apartment-now Timothy's-was quite exhausting, and the younger Lawrence had to bicker with his sister that she could only take either the espresso machine or waffle maker.
Timothy and Lexie had just left to get the next round of boxes; the former imposed a challenge to race the latter down the stairs.
Mark set the box in his hands aside as he opened the door to their new apartment, and they entered the place that was currently full of boxes and more boxes. Norah held a smaller one in her arms as she used her leg to push in another one.
"Hey, the boxes are labelled 'fragile' for a reason," Mark narrowed his eyes at her before picking up the heavy box by her foot.
"That one's just full of medical journals," Norah shrugged. "I placed the 'fragile' sticker myself so the truck driver won't just toss the box and damage the books."
He raised a brow at her. "Little genius," he smirked, taking the box from her hand and adding it to the pile of boxes in the middle of the apartment. They walked out of the apartment, and he tackled her into a hug while she yelped in protest.
"Okay, okay. Which one?" Callie asked as she rushed out to the corridor, where Mark had his face buried at Norah's neck. She held two dresses up, a blue and a black, staring at the pair and ignoring the position they were in.
"It's my first day at Mercy West," Callie informed, "I wanna look nice, you know. Serious, talented, hardcore-not someone you push around. Nice, but hot, like me."
"The black one," Norah and Mark replied in unison.
"Really? I thought this one," Callie mumbled, holding a lingering stare at the blue dress.
"If you're planning on dumping Robbins, then you'll go for the blue one," Norah stated, "Too hot for work."
"What she said," Mark added with his arms tightening around his girlfriend.
"Okay, here," Callie tossed the blue dress to Norah; the former started stripping down and changing into the black dress.
"Red pillows," Mark hummed at her neck, and Norah smacked the top of his head.
"If you're trying to sex your way into changing my mind, you're not," she snapped at him before catching a hanger that got thrown towards her. "Callie, blue pillows or red?"
The woman looked at the pair as she shrugged on her dress. "Um... Red's striking and blue's cool," she replied but looking at the glare from the younger woman, she quickly changed her response. "Blue-definitely blue. Goes with your, uh... door."
Norah smirked while she danced her fingers at the back of his head.
"Thanks. Wish me luck," Callie grinned as she took her clothes and hanger from the brunette's hands, "Or not luck, 'cause I'm all talented and hardcore."
"You're an attending, Torres. Go kick some ass."
"Have fun!" Norah wished. She smirked when Mark lifted his head from her. "Blue pillows got the higher vote," she announced.
"Oh, you're talking about votes now?" he challenged, turning his head to the two people walking down the corridor. "Tim, Grey. Pillows-red or blue?"
"I think red is nice," Lexie shrugged, "Romantic."
"That's 2 to 2," Mark pointed out before turning to the remaining man, "Tim, tie breaker?"
Timothy looked between his sister and her boyfriend, weighing the outcome of his vote. If he were to side with Norah, Mark could ban him from his surgeries-which was something he would definitely do; if he sided with Mark, however, he was sure to get smacked by his sister-which was never something he looked forward to-and risk losing both the espresso machine and waffle maker...
So he voted the safest option.
"Both," Timothy replied, "Get both, blue and red, and stop squabbling over fucking pillow colours."
Norah and Mark looked at each other, their eyes narrowed. Lexie looked at them confused while Timothy took the pot of plant from her hands.
"You're boring," Mark told the younger man before turning back to his girlfriend, "We're gonna take votes from the hospital staff."
Norah nodded with a challenging smirk on her face. "I'll end you."
Lexie snorted at the pair while Timothy mentally face-palmed at the decisions of the two adults. "Ugh, for the love of fucking god-"
❦ ❦ ❦
- DAY 30 -
HER SHIFT HAD JUST ENDED, and Norah was putting away her many pens and Post-It into her cubby. "Long day?" Meredith asked from a few cubbies next to hers, and Norah sighed.
"You have no idea."
A janitor walked into the locker room, carrying an empty box, which he placed on the bench between the two residents. Norah raised a brow at the man curiously.
But when she saw him starting taking the stacks of books out of the cubby between hers and Meredith's, her heart sank, and by the look on her friend's face, she knew she was alarmed, too.
"What are you doing?" Meredith asked the janitor.
"We need the space," he merely replied as he folded George's white coat into the box.
Meredith stood frozen as she watched him clear out George's cubby; her tears were threatening to fall as Norah saw the realisation hit her. Kirian, Jace and Nina, who were still in the locker room, too, had stiffened.
"Hey, I'll... I'll do it," Norah offered as she took the pens from George's cubby and placed it into the box. The janitor nodded and headed out shortly.
One by one, Norah cleared out George's locker; Meredith wanted to help, too, but all she could do was drop on the bench, watching as the brunette put his belongings into the box.
The box slowly filled up-books, magazines, flashcards, pens, some papers and a picture of him with the five of them. It was taken in their intern year, after a very drunk night in Joe's bar.
A stinging feeling lingered in her throat, seeing the large grin on George's face with his pinkish cheeks.
❦ ❦ ❦
NORAH CARRIED THE BOX in her hands as she walked towards the hospital's entrance, where Mark was waiting for her.
He looked at the cardboard box in her hand, one similar to the ones they packed their stuff in while moving to their new apartment. "What's that?"
"George's stuff... The janitor came to clean his locker," she replied, her voice soft, "I'm gonna... send it to Mama O'Malley tomorrow morning, when the post office opens."
Mark gave her a sad smile, placing a kiss on the top of her head as they walked out of the hospital. The night was quiet, as though the world knew they were still grieving over the life lost.
The ride back to their apartment was barely five minutes, but it was a quiet journey. Norah had the box on her lap the entire time while Mark drove, stealing glances to check on her now and then.
When they entered their apartment, Norah placed the box above the coffee table while she plopped herself on the couch. Mark walked over and sat next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder.
She had mixed feelings that she could not pinpoint. It was like she was feeling everything at the same time-sadness, anger, annoyance, grief, and relief.
The white coat on top of the box had the words George O'Malley M.D. printed above the chest pocket. At the pocket, she saw a faint outline of a circle that grabbed her curiosity.
She reached into the pocket, feeling a cold metal under her fingertips; goosebumps raised all over her skin as she slowly took out the item-
―
"Count on it as a lucky token-just remember to return in, you know?"
"A-Are you sure? I mean... it's your lucky coin, and I don't want to... I don't know, un-lucky it."
―
-it was the one pound coin with the year 1978 engraved on it; not too shiny, but now special.
"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered under her breath as she held the coin in her palm; Mark raised a brow at her curiously. "I lent him this coin a bit before he retook his intern exams," she explained, "I didn't even realise he hadn't returned it..."
She sighed, flipping the coin up, and it landed on her hand with tails facing upwards. "It's been a month already."
"Time flies too fast for our liking," he comforted.
"I just... I can't stop remembering what he said to me before I started my first solo surgery the other day."
―
"I think the nurses love your catchphrase. I think they feel included."
"We are called a surgical team, after all. You better start thinking of how to beat mine."
―
Catchphrase, huh? Norah thought to herself, It will now be my catchphrase thanks to you, George.
"I miss him," she sighed, "George was my first friend in Seattle."
"Do you wanna... I don't know, cry?" he asked, but she shook her head.
"Meredith's bawling her eyes out, and Derek's with her," she replied, "But I don't see the point in crying anymore. I mean, George is dead, and he will stay dead."
There was a pause of silence before he spoke, "I mean... he was kind of a dorky dude..." She snapped her head to him, staring at him in disbelief at his inappropriate timing.
Then again, who was she to judge? She was literally laughing at his funeral.
Mark picked up a pillow by his side and smacked it across Norah's back, the latter shooting a glare at him. "What the hell was that for?" she demanded.
"See, you aren't crying," Mark pointed out, "And Tim might've mentioned to me that he used to cheer you up by a pillow fight."
"Yeah-when I was eight, and he was five!"
He tossed another pillow in her direction, which she caught in time before it hit her again; the smile slowly growing on her face made him feel fluttery. "Well, I think it still works," he smirked.
She picked up the purple throw pillow and swung it at him, hitting him square in the face, and he let out a loud 'Ow' before tackling her down with his entire body weight. Her screech of protest got drowned away by the chuckles and laughter that filled their apartment.
Oh, had I mentioned?
They settled for purple pillows-a combination of blue and red. Though they still bought a blue and a red each, since they could not keep their minds off them.