[CW: PTSD, mild panic attack]
MARK SLAMMED THE DOOR open and stalked into the room where Jeffrey was casually eating a jello cup while switching through channels on the TV.
"You said that it was a two-hour round-trip," he bellowed, seizing the remote control from the patient's hand.
"Mm-hmm, that's right."
"She should've been back two hours ago!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Simple math, isn't it?"
"Why're the fucking calls not going in?" Timothy demanded as he stormed into the room, grabbing the patient on his collar.
"Whoa, whoa-easy there, cowboy," Jeffrey mocked back with a laugh. "There's no service in the middle of nowhere," he reminded as a smirk formed on his face, "Besides, she has a choice to make."
"What do you-"
"There are no choices to make, Hanson."
The voice that appeared flushed a wave of relief throughout the surgeons.
Norah entered the room, her eyes fixed on the head perking up on the hospital bed. She hurled the briefcase towards him and he let out a sharp 'oof' when it hit him hard in the abdomen.
"My, my... I'm surprised, Honorah," he had an impressed look on his face, "But you gotta admit, it was tempting." She did not reply to him, but instead, glared back at the grin on his face. "Come on, you can't lie to me, doll," he chuckled, "You would've been here two hours ago if you weren't considering."
She turned on her heels and left the room, exhaling shakily when the man on the bed did not stop her. Mark hurried out after her and seized her arm; she let out a short wince at the bruise under his grip.
He did not know; she did not want him to know.
"Are you gonna talk to me yet?" he questioned, "Because from what I heard, there's a lot to talk about."
His eyes were pouring with concern and demanding an answer, but she still had the possibility of assault charges weighing on her shoulders.
She shook her head, "Not now..."
He shook his head as he let go of her arm, staring at her in disbelief. "Not now or not ever?" he scoffed, walking off in a different direction.
She let out a shaky breath as she dropped her head. It was a series of decisions, each one detouring closer to doom.
❦ ❦ ❦
JEFFREY WAS DISCHARGED the same night that Norah chose to stay in Seattle, instead of her old ways of fleeing to a different part of the country, or to a different country altogether.
It felt as though she had finally got to catch her breath after the tense atmosphere that was strangling her.
He was frightening to her, mentally. The last time they met... was just downhill, and she never wanted to experience that ever again.
But knowing that he was still alive and walking, that he knew where she worked and possibly where she lived, that she chose to not take up his offer-she knew he would return. And the knowledge was what made her restless and uneasy.
She went back to their apartment by herself that night-it was the first time since... she did not even know when, that Mark did not wait for her at the entrance of the hospital like he always would.
She tossed the keys into the bowl and he lifted his eyes to her from the kitchen island.
She knew by the look on his face that he had questions, many, that he wanted an answer or even an explanation to. But Jeffrey's presence was already tormenting enough for her, the last thing she wanted was to bring up those memories again.
But Mark did not know that.
How would he, when she had never told him a thing?
"He was your fiancé?"
"Sorry-what?"
Now, that was a question she least expected.
"That jerk told you that?" she frowned, shaking her head, "I never even dated him, Mark."
He nodded once; she could tell that he was choosing to believe her.
Choosing to.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking right at her as she strode over into the kitchen. "Then what went wrong with your life in New York?"
That was more of what she expected...
"And why can't you tell me about it?"
...but there was a good reason why those memories were locked away at the back of her head.
"What happened in New York, stays in New York," she stated firmly, "I'm not bringing them back now, not ever." She went to pour herself a glass of water while he scoffed lightly, shaking his head.
She sighed, "Why can't you just... trust me?"
"How do you want me to trust you when I... when I don't even know you?" his voice was louder this time, and she froze at his words.
It felt like déjà vu.
They sat opposite each other, separated by a cold marble surface that felt like a wide river of a strong current.
"Please don't let his words get into your head," she spoke, her voice small but clear.
"I don't want to, Norah-but his words are giving me more explanation than you are."
His head was spinning in circles, running laps on the track field. He would do anything to get her to talk right now, anything, but her mouth remained sealed.
She felt the ceiling lowering onto her head, the walls tightening around her. She tried not to react, she was really trying her best, but his sudden rise in voice was not favouring her side.
"I-I don't know... you," he spoke in a defeated voice, "I want to know you, the true you, but you're not letting me in."
―
"I wanna get to know you, Honorah," Jeffrey had a sincere smile on his face as he lay down next to her on the wet grass at the quiet park. "I wanna know the real you, all of you. So could you please let me in that buzzing head of yours?"
―
The past of New York was flashing before her eyes.
The vault at the back of her head had made its way to the front, the solid metal walls seemed to turn into thin fabric. The haunting recollection of everything that had happened three years ago was rolling like a film tape inside her head.
The scenes she hoped to expunge were back-they were all back.
Then again, hope had always led to despair.
"Norah...?" Mark's voice was careful this time.
Careful, because he was scared that she would snap away from herself.
She knew this was not the person he met, she right now was not the person he knew nor loved.
New York was not her, and she did not want it to be her.
But New York was her, and there was no denying, no escaping it.
It was her history, a part of her that she could never erase no matter how hard she tried. The eraser could be reduced into a piece of dust but the stain will remain on the paper; because it was not a pencil scratch, it was the ink of a marker-a highlighter even, a highlight of her life.
―
"I vow to make your life a living hell until my very last breath!"
―
She did not even have the strength to muster up a bitter laugh.
❦ ❦ ❦
S6 EP19
IT HAD BEEN ONE WEEK since she stood frozen at the kitchen island, with not a single word escaping her breath. One week since she unplanted the mangroves for the landslide to re-enter her conscious mind. One week since the images in her head seemed to replay as they wished, totally ignoring the fact that she was holding herself back up by a single thin thread like a puppet.
Also, one week since she had exchanged a more-than-two-minutes-converse with Mark.
Norah walked through the lobby with her hands inside the pockets of her white coat. She retraced her steps upon seeing Alex, Meredith, Cristina, and another man sitting together.
"Who's this?" she asked out of curiosity.
"Angel Spawn," Cristina chimed.
"Aaron, Norah Lawrence," Meredith spoke up and the mystery man stood up with a bright smile.
"Nice to meet you, Dr Lawrence," he grinned, putting a hand in the middle of them, "I'm Aaron Karev."
"Oh, wow, Angel Spawn," the brunette shook his hand, slightly taken back by the difference between the brothers. Alex had a scowl on his face that he failed to wipe off. "Pleasure to meet you, but do excuse me, I was paged."
That was in fact, a lie.
Norah excused herself from the group and climbed the stairs up to the fifth floor, the Psych Floor. But before she went in, she hesitated, again. It was the fourth time that week.
The first time she had barely made it to the third floor before she turned around; the fourth time, yesterday, she stood in front of the door of the stairwell for god knows how long.
Today, she had her hand on the handle of the door. Progress, she consoled herself. She had the largest urge to turn around and ran back down where she came from.
Fight or flight was a funny thing. The kick of the adrenaline, the impulses in your nerves screaming at yourself to make a choice.
She had made her choice-fight, but when she was only a step away from facing her problems, the true fight or flight kicked in and her head was begging for her to run away.
In the end, she listened to her head.
❦ ❦ ❦
TIMOTHY ROAMED THE halls searching for his sister. She was not in the residents' locker room, not in the cafeteria, not even in the Neuro Wing.
"Dr Shepherd!" he widened his pace to catch up to the chief who had a long list of something in his hand, "Have you seen Nor?"
"Yeah, she's waiting for a CT for me," Derek replied and Timothy exhaled in relief. "What's the problem?"
"How is she? I mean, is she... I don't know, functioning?"
"You haven't talked to her?" Derek raised a brow at the resident.
Timothy managed a light smile, "Have she talked to Mark?"
"Alright, point taken," Derek sighed, "She seems fine. I mean, back to her usual self, sweeping all Neuro cases under my nose and already done charting them before I even asked to... Something else I need to know?"
"No, I... That's good, I suppose," Timothy muttered, just as Derek's pager started to beep. The attending was about to excuse himself before the resident held him back. "Derek, the last time this happened, she moved across the country-I mean, you know that, too, obviously..."
Shock, freeze, realisation, rage, calm, and flight-that's her spiral that he knew of.
"It's just... I wouldn't be too surprised if she were to put in a transfer notice anytime soon," Timothy stated lastly before walking off, leaving the attending to ponder about his words.
❦
DEREK HEADED A FLOOR down and made his way to the CT room, where Norah and April were standing in front of a clear set of scans that had just been put on display.
"Look at the left temporal lobe," Norah squinted her eyes at the scans. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, her head tilted aside as she studied her scans. "A left temporal lobe hemorrhage that's extended to her ventricular system..."
She seemed fine.
"Is there anything we can do?" April queried, her voice had a slight shake to it.
"There's nothing we can do," Derek spoke up and the shorter woman jumped slightly; Norah merely turned her head as if she was looking over her shoulder, but her eyes remained on the display.
"Mm... She's toasted, isn't she?"
Ah yes, the humour.
She was fine.
"Don't use that in front of the patient's family when you tell them about the patient's condition," Derek warned with a sigh.
Norah finally took her gaze off the scans and shifted them to him. "I'm informing the family?" she asked.
"It is your find," he nodded, "But are you in your right mind to?"
"Yes, of course. Thank you."
The light was back in the pair of hazel eyes, glimmering back at him as she took down the CT scans from the light.
She was fine.
❦ ❦ ❦
"MRS CLARK'S SCANS showed a massive hemorrhage in her brain," Norah informed the man who was holding his wife's hand tightly in his. "And the EEG showed minimal brain activity."
"But that means there's hope, right?" Mr Clark asked, his voice was uncertain, but hopeful as he reasoned, "Because... at least there's activity. And... And her heart is still beating."
"Only because the mechanical ventilator is breathing for her," she tried to explain, "When we turn the machine off, the heart won't get the oxygen it needs... then it will stop."
"Why would you turn it off?" he demanded, staring at the surgeons in the room like they were mad. "People can live for years on these machines!"
"Mr Clark, the advanced directive your wife signed specifically requested no mechanical ventilation," Webber interjected firmly.
"She filled that form out three years ago when the cancer was first diagnosed. The doctor told her she had six months to live, and she held on for another three years," the man argued back, "She'll come back from this, too. You'll see. You can't unplug her."
"Legally, we don't have a choice, sir."
"But... she's my wife," he voiced, his eyes grazing from one surgeon to another. "It's my choice."
"It's your wife's choice, and she made it three years ago," Webber stated.
The room was thick in tension and devastation, everyone could sense it. A man holding on to a loose strand of hope, not wanting to be separated from his wife.
Hope was a dangerous thing to hold onto.
"You said the surgery went fine," Mr Clark's voice was low this time, his words directed to Lexie. His tone and the look on his face were accusing, blaming. "That's what you said."
"It did, but-"
"No, you're not a doctor-you're a child! And you're useless!" he bellowed at the resident who jumped slightly at the suddenness, "I'm done talking with you-I'm done talking with all of you!"
―
"Hey, I am done talking with you. You're useless by yourself, you're nobody," Jeffrey scoffed, slamming the glass in his hand at the wall behind her.
The glass shattered upon contact, pieces of shards flew towards her but she did not move-she dare not move.
"Don't you see? I am the one who saved you from yourself, how could you possibly go on with your life without me holding your hand?"
―
Norah was clenching hard on her white coat, refraining from recoiling at the raise in his voice.
How she wished he had not 'saved her from herself'. She very much rather go down in her turmoil than to have every minute of her life planned out before her eyes.
"Who's in charge here?" Mr Clark demanded.
"I-I'll get Shepherd," Norah muttered at once, volunteering herself to get the hell out of that room before her mind shut down on her.
Perhaps I should've stepped through the door this morning, the voice nagged in her head.
She found herself in the stairwell again, but this time she was descending instead of ascending. But once again, she found her hand hanging on top of the door handle. The steel rested under her palm, her fingers tightened around the cold touch.
―
She opened the door to her flat, shocked to see not only that Jeffrey was sitting in her living room, but he had a few 'friends' with him as well.
"Jeff, how did you come in?" she questioned.
She got her answer when he dangled the keys in his hand-a copy of her keys.
That was the first red flag she ignored.
The next time she hesitated before opening the door to her home, because of the blaring voice coming from within. She did not know what it was, she did not want to know that it was.
The door was opened from the inside and Jeffrey greeted her with that charming smile of his. His eyes were bloodshot and the stench of smell filled her lungs.
The same night she swore to get away from him.
―
The door to the stairwell opened from the other side and Norah tore her hand away from the handle. She took a big step backwards when the door swung open.
The familiar scenario seemed to have replayed; but this time, instead of the pale green eyes that were smiling back at her, she was greeted by the bright blue ones that were surprised yet confused to see her.
"How long have you been standing there?" Mark asked as the door closed by itself behind him.
"I... I don't know." That was the truth.
"Do you know anything nowadays?" he exhaled heavily, his voice was laced with tiredness. She could not blame him though, because she was beyond exhausted. "Where are you heading?"
"I... Derek."
He cocked his head aside, an expression on his face she recognised. "The chief's office is a floor up, Norah, you're on the wrong floor."
Was she? She had no idea, to be honest. "Oh... I... okay."
Since when did she not know how to speak in front of him? She darted past him and lifted her foot to the stairs, but he held her arm and walked up to her, engulfing her into his chest.
Lub dub... lub dub... lub dub...
The rhythmic beating-she missed it; she missed the calmness he had brought her.
She could not really tell who needed the hug-the physical touch from each other-more; him or her?
The question was answered when he cupped his hands on both sides of her face and leaned his forehead against hers, their eyes closed and their noses touched.
"What is going on with us?"
"I don't know..."
He sighed and shook his head. "You'll be home tonight?"
"Yeah."
❦ ❦ ❦
A MAN STUMBLED INTO the ER, catching himself up at the nurses' station. A female nurse was already gesturing for one of the interns to come over. "Sir, are you okay?"
"C-Can you get me Dr Lawrence?" the man choked out, feeling his feet losing sense under him.
He could see the mouths of the nurses moving, but he failed to figure out what they were saying. He drifted in and out of consciousness while he was drifting his gaze away from the piercing light above him, and his eyes met the very person he was looking for.
"Ah, doll! There you-" he coughed sharply, "-are..."
"What the fuck are you doing back here?" Norah howled and felt the stares from the interns and nurses.
He was the cause for everything that happened to her. How dare he now return with that disgusting smile on his face?
There was a flicker between hatred and wrath, both of which had a similar solution to it. But before she could stomp up to him to make sure he will be turned into a cabbage, two arms held her back by the shoulder.
Her gaze snapped over to the pair of eyes that met her. A serious glare.
"You look like you're gonna kill that bastard right now," Timothy warned her as he staggered backwards, pulling her along with him, "Stay back."
Jeffrey Hanson was seizing.
Timothy dropped his sister and immediately rushed up to the man he loathed more than anything. Fortunately, out of self-control, he had managed to refrain himself from squeezing the man's neck until he went purple.
"What's that fucking smell?" he questioned as he held the man on his side.
"It's meth. He's strung out on meth," Norah deadpanned. Timothy lifted his head to the hazel eyes that were filled with fury; he did not even bother asking how she recognised the smell that quickly.
"Let him die," she spat coldly, before turning away and heading in the opposite direction, ignoring the looks from everyone else's faces.
❦ ❦ ❦
SHE WAS HOME, LIKE SHE said she would be.
But at the same time, she was not.
Her mind was still in the hospital and he could tell. It did not take him much to figure out why her mind was elsewhere while staring at her on the couch. Her lips were quivering and her legs could not stop bouncing, her eyes fixed at one spot, her soul empty.
He felt helpless.
"Norah, please just talk to me." Mark was desperate but she did not seem to hear him. Great, now her hearing is shut off, too. "I can't understand what you're going through, but I want to, I really want to."
A part of her knew that she should stop pushing him away, that she would lose him, but nothing was working out the way she wanted it to.
"It's not something I can just talk about, Mark, I really can't," she shook her head as she got up and headed for the bedroom. He stopped her abruptly, pulling her from the wrist towards him.
―
"I wanna help you, doll, that's all I want to do," Jeffrey sighed as gripped her wrist tightly, "I can't understand what's in your mind if you don't tell me. Please, use your words."
"I don't want your help, Jeff," Norah snapped at him, a bottle of vodka in her hand. "You're a good guy, okay? And I don't need you to throw yourself into my bloody mess."
"But you wanna save yourself, I know you do," he tried, "Come down here, please. I'm willing to help, but I can't help you-"
―
"-if you don't let me to!"
Their words were so similar, they ignited the nostalgic fear within her.
Her head was messing with her and her ears betrayed her-the same words from two different people were moulded into one. A harmony that made her sick to the stomach; her mind was tricking her, telling her that this was a chance to say what she wanted to say on that particular night.
"I'm not some broken toy for you to fix!" she finally fired back, her words were choked but her voice could not be clearer.
Oh, how she despised the relief she felt from getting the words out of her chest.
Yet she knew the moment the words escaped her lungs, she regretted it. But the chance was taken and her mind was set; there was no turning back.
He let go of her hand alarmingly and she started pacing up and down. The unease in her eyes was now gone, taken over by a cold shower of maliciousness that clung onto the tip of every hair.
He did not recognise her.
"Is that what you've always viewed me as? Broken? I mean, it makes sense doesn't it?" she let out a dry chuckle, struggling and tumbling about her words, "The flashbacks, the breakdowns in the stairwell after the ferryboat, after George's death, everything-you were there for all. Why were you even there?"
And there it was, she snapped; there was no rewind button now. Every single word tumbled out laced with spite and regret, yet she had no way to stop herself.
In the sudden silence that surfaced the place, the sound of her footsteps echoed up the ceiling.
She strangled in her own speech while he stood there, watching the cracks creeping up her, bit by bit, until the soulless eyes landed back onto him.
"I..."
He was lost for words. For the first time, his head was empty and all words were gone in his vocabulary; she shook her head frantically, as though it could make her feel human again.
"You wanna fix me? There's nothing to fix anymore-is that what you wanna hear?" her laugh was bitter, "Or: congratulations, you've broken everything. And I'm not letting you be the one who 'fixes' me ever again."
"No, stop, you don't get to push me away right now-"
"God, I can't even breathe right now-"
"Laurie-"
"Stop! Fuck, just stop!"
The last bit of sanity within herself had finally cracked. The 'she' that she had kept locked away for three years now had finally broken out of its shell. She hated it, she hated him, she hated herself the most.
It felt like New York all over again.
This was rage and calm colliding into each other like the particles in the air. But most importantly, it was flight that screamed at her face.
He stared at her as she held herself steady by the wall right next to the apartment door. He could see that there was a twitch of her muscle wanting her to run out, run away; a shot of icy shivers ran down his skin.
The same coldness ran in her veins. The imaginary warm sand particles slithered off her fingertips. Her subconscious mind was fading, the outline of the beach erasing from her head; there was no turning back.
He did not want to lose her, but nothing was favourable for them at that exact moment.
"Norah, stop, stop. Please just-stop," he stalked over to her, carefully. He did not touch her, he did not dare to even go near her. "Can't we just... talk?"
He did not know what was worse: looking at her shuddering body while he stood before her incapably-or that she had suddenly gone still.
Her voice came out cold and toneless, "Don't you think you've talked enough already?"
What the hell am I saying? the small voice questioned at the back of her head.
The relief of having to finally break down was balanced with the regret that her spiteful words were directed to him.
He stared into the eyes he once fell in love with, the same ones that had lost the soul behind them. He no longer recognised her, not at all.
"Are you really so eager to get away from me?" he was expressionless and she froze at her spot, "Fine, I'll leave in the morning."
That was nothing near what she expected. Then again, what did she expect?
"No, I'll go," her voice came out small and defenceless, "This is your apartment."
"Our apartment-"
"Your apartment-"
The raps of knocks on the door drew their attention away from each other, cutting a halt to the unstable mind and helpless face.
Callie stood on the other side of the door in pyjamas; Arizona and Cristina were poking their heads out from the door down the hall.
"I-we-heard shouts," Callie stated unsurely as she looked between the man at the door and the woman standing not far behind him. "Um... Is everything okay?"
Neither answered.
Is everything okay?
He would say no but she would say yes; yet she did not babble since her mind was the one tearing itself apart from within, after all.
"I'll go," she spoke again, her voice was more composed than she predicted.
Decisions after decisions, every decision made seemed to be the wrong one.
When he no longer debated with her, she turned around and slipped out of the door; he did not even try to stop her this time as he backed into the apartment numbly.
Callie stepped into the apartment after he froze in the middle of the living room. The blue throw pillow was wrinkled in his hand as his arm trembled in mid-air. She took a cautious step to him before prying the pillow out of his clasp.
"Mark...?"
His legs gave out on him and he dropped down onto the couch behind him. He ran both hands across his face; he felt like clawing on his own skin as his voice throttled into a bitter laugh. She stared at him worriedly, but he could not meet her eyes.
The words that left his mouth pierced his heart, "I think... our relationship just ended."
Assumptions were the easiest way to provide an explanation for the unexplainable feelings.
❦
RIGHT WHEN NORAH stepped out of the apartment, it felt as though her conscious mind surfaced her head again. Every cell in her body was screaming back at her.
What the fuck had I done?
Her phone rang, echoing in the corridor; Arizona and Cristina had pulled their heads back from down the hall. She took a deep breath before answering the call and pressing the phone up against her ear.
"Hey... Tim?"
"Hey back," Timothy's voice was serene, something that formed a question in her already overflowed head. And she got the answer to her wonder straight away.
"Jeffrey Hanson died ten minutes ago. Just thought you needed to know."
He sounded delighted; she knew she should be, too.
But her head was too messed up to even gather up the right emotion, and he seemed to notice that from the other side of the phone when she remained silent.
"It was fucking overdose so you're free, Nor, you got your freedom now."
She mustered up a bitter laugh.
Freedom? The universe must really hate me.
Fight or flight had always been such a simple whim of decision.
Turning around, she bolted for the elevators.