Telephones and Luck
by
Kelsey
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: I'm an experienced fanfic writer, but this is my first posted ER piece. So be gentle, please.
Summary: Doug and Carol weren't at Mark's funeral. Have you ever wondered why?
Rating: G
We get word of the news by phone. Kerry called to tell us Mark was sick the first time, and Susan when the tumor came back. And when the phone rings today, it's Susan again, telling me through her tears and breathless sobs that Mark is dead.
Numbly, I hang the phone in its cradle, Doug standing behind me, and if his shimmering eyes are any indication, already pretty clear on what's going on. "It's over, Doug," I say gently. "He's gone."
Doug collapses onto the couch behind him, moving slowly, like he's in shock. I'm ready to break down, and I only worked with the guy. He was Doug's best friend for years. I can only imagine what the pain of something like that feels like.
"How?" He asks hoarsely.
My brow furrows in confusion, and reluctantly, he clarifies. "Was he... was he- hooked up to respirators and shocked with those damn paddles until his body couldn't possibly take any more just because the rest of us were too selfish to let him go?" There's bitterness in Doug's tone that I haven't heard in a long time. I think that maybe, it's because he knows he can't fault Mark's family and friends for wanting him to stay with them, even if it was just one more minute.
I also don't miss the 'us' in Doug's acrid question.
I shake my head gently, grateful for the mercy that spared Mark from those things. "No. He died... in a rental house in Hawaii... with his wife and daughters."
Doug nods.
We just sit there for a long time, not really sure what to do. I stroke his hair, he wraps his arms around my waist, but we don't really feel either of the gestures, both of us lost in our own memories. Mark was always so vibrant... so alive. It's hard to imagine him cold and dead, like so many we saw at the hospital in Chicago, and still see here. Doug and I work at healing people, but sometimes they don't make it. You get used to the sight of dead strangers.
It's all different when the person who is lying dead and cold and alone on that morgue slab was a friend.
Eventually the stupor breaks and Doug's breath starts to catch, his body shaking as he starts to sob. "Why?" He asks, "Why?"
I stroke his hair a little more, my own eyes shining too, trying not to break down along with him. "It's the eternal question, but I don't think anyone's ever figured out the answer," I say softly.
He buries his face in my shirt, his body quivering with the force of his grief. I hold him for a long time, before he calms down enough to talk again.
"He had kids, Carol."
"I know."
"He had a baby daughter. She was only a little more than a year old. She won't even remember him."
My eyes tear at that. The whole thing is so... sad is supposed to be the word you use for these feelings, but that tiny little word doesn't encompass them nearly well enough. Earth-shattering, I think, works better. Life-changing. And now little Ella's life is changed, because she won't ever know the special man who was Mark Greene.
Rachel and Elizabeth can tell her about him, of course, but it won't be anything near the same.
"I know."
Eventually, the baby-sitter brings Kate and Tess home, and we have to force ourselves into something resembling parental mode. They're quieter than usual, seeming to sense the mood of the evening. Kate asks several times what happened to make us so sad, but I can't seem to explain death to her, no matter how hard I try. She and her sister are so far off in a fantasy world, they can't grasp the concept of something like that, yet. So I settle for telling her that something bad happened to a friend of Daddy's and mine, and we're very sad. She nods sagely.
When they're in bed, Doug and I turn in too, despite the early hour. Getting ready for sleep in a solemn affair tonight. Clothes come off and new ones go on, teeth are brushed, faces washed. Doug kisses me goodnight on the forehead, but neither of us speaks.
The funeral's in four days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We arrive at the airport barely on time. Making our way to the ticket counter, I glance at my watch, glad that we found that last, lucky parking spot. We've gotten to the gate with just five minutes to spare, and the plane is still on the ground, people just starting to board.
We store our luggage and find seats, Doug and I each on one end, the girls in the middle. They play surprisingly quietly as we wait for the flight to get underway.
Eventually, though, it becomes clear it's not going to. Doug goes to talk to the flight attendant, and she assures him that we'll be off the ground in a few minutes.
Minutes turn into hours, and people start leaving the plane after half of that. I go check at the desk, though, and there aren't any other flights to Chicago until tomorrow. So we stay on the plane, trying to soothe two antsy five-year olds, promising them ice cream and candy if they behave until we've attended Mark's funeral.
After three hours of this endless waiting, the captain shows up in the passenger section, and announces that we are finally getting underway. The girls have fallen asleep, leaning on each other. They crashed out about an hour ago, and we can only hope they'll sleep through the takeoff. They sleep like the dead, so it's possible, I suppose.
When we land in Chicago, the girls are cranky, our luggage is heavy and we're cutting things close, but if everything else goes to plan, we'll make Mark's funeral with an hour to spare.
Things don't go smoothly, though.
The car rental has misplaced our reservation, and is fully booked. The other car rental in the airport is more accommodating- if we can wait an hour to get the vehicle to the airport, because their transport bus has broken down and all their drivers are occupied at the moment. Reluctantly, we agree to our only option.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, still waiting for the car, we both know we're not going to make it.
"It's too late," Doug mutters again.
I sigh. "I know." I've been denying his insistence that we're beyond their point of repair for a while now, but it's time to give in.
He puts his head on my shoulder, and a few tears escape him silently. A single salty drop trails down my cheek, too. "I'm so sorry, Doug."
He wipes his face briskly, and smiles at me, one of those smiles that don't quite reach a person's eyes. "You didn't have anything to do with it."
"I know. But I'm still sorry. I know it was important to you to be at Mark's funeral."
"And it wasn't to you?" He's not belligerent, just asking a question.
I shake my head slowly. "Strangely enough, no. I think... I think I've said goodbye to Mark already, Doug. They're burying his body today, and it would have been nice to be there, to show our respect for his life, but it wasn't something I needed, personally. I've... already made peace with him. I've already said goodbye- to his soul."
Doug nods slowly, and says nothing.
"Doug?"
He looks up, raising his eyebrows in question.
"Mark knows that you would have been there if you could."
He nods again, and rubs my arm. "I know."
There's a lot of silence while we wait for the rental car. With a little luck, we can still make the wake.
Luck hasn't been on our side for a while, now.