Not Going Anywhere
Summary: Mark tells Susan about the recurrence.
A/N: Rachel, since you requested so nicely. I love you.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
His world was going to hell in a handbasket at an alarming rate. It was like being stuck in a elevator that the pulley had broken on, the car was plummeting to it's untimely demise at the bottom of the shaft. All he could do was hold on and hope to not take out too many people in the fall out.
His marriage was hanging together by a thread that was fraying. His oldest daughter was in over her head in the world of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. His baby girl was coming out of a stint in the NICU, where she had barely escaped with her life. He was arguing with his bosses and his friends, snapping at the slightest thing.
And finally, there was the dark cloud that hung over head. It was back. Gamma Knife treatment would prolong his life exepctancy, but no qualms about, he was nearing the end of the road. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to think, but he couldn't cry. He didn't want anyone to know. The second someone found out, it'd become a thing. They'd start edging him out, shutting off to him, he was dying and they wouldn't want to be a burden. He didn't want to be a burden.
Mark Greene's world was crashing down.
His plane landed in O'Hare in the middle of the night. He needed to get home to Rachel, home to his daughter, to start fixing things before time was taken from them. He collected his bag from the conveyor belt and exited the airport. Standing in the cold Chicago wind, he made a decision. Hailing a cab, he rattled off the address to her apartment.
It was the middle of the night and she was the only one who wouldn't care. She was the only one who wouldn't treat him like he was already dead.
"Susan!" He knocked on her door.
He heard her moving through the apartment and almost chuckled as he heard her curse, she must have ran into her couch again. The door opened slowly and she stood before him in the same worn out Bears jersey, "Mark..." She breathed.
Blue eyes found hazel. She knew before he could say a word. Her arms opened to him and he graciously accepted her hug. They stood in her doorway; his head resting on the crook of her shoulder, soaking her jersey and hair with tears. Her hands traced over his back, rubbing soothing circles.
She lead him into the apartment. Through the dark they made their way to the couch. They lay down, holding one another as if the world would end if they let go. Their heart beats raced and they cried together, neither wanting for it to end. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose and finally his lips.
It wasn't heated. It was as innocent as the one on the tracks had been. Longing and friendship, peace and anger, all rolled into the touch of lips.
He was the one who was dying, the one who was leaving, but as the kiss ended, he pleaded, "Please, don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere."