Title: Some Things Simply Speak for Themselves

Disclaimer: I don't own them but I wish I did.

Quote is from 'Grey's Anatomy'….don't judge me, it fit well.

Set right after Mark's death in Season 8. Susan isn't coping well.


As the saying goes, misery never takes a holiday. You would've thought the ER would be dormant after the death of Mark Greene. Silent. Empty. In mourning. But it didn't miss a beat. The traumas continued to slam through the doors and the frequent fliers wouldn't stay away. Susan stood at the desk in a daze. She had been working non-stop since Mark died. Slept in any empty bed she could find, anything to avoid going home to her empty apartment. She was a walking zombie but no one had the heart to tell her to go home.

The whole staff was affected by Mark's death, even the patients had started to notice that something was off. Carter trailed off into a daydream during a routine exam on a patient with stomach pains and pressed down a bit too hard.

"Hey man! What's your problem?!" he screamed in pain.

Carter snapped out of his trance, "Sorry about that, I'm gonna get a surgeon down here to see if you have appendicitis." He quickly exited the room before the patient had a chance to respond and inadvertently ran into Abby in the hallway.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't worry about it, you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He muttered unconvincingly. His gaze focused on Susan standing at the desk staring into space. "She doesn't look too good though."

Abby followed his line of vision and landed on Susan. "I know, I'm worried about her, I don't think she's gone home in days."

"Maybe I should talk to her."

Abby noticed how ragged Carter looked, "Maybe you should go home too."
"I'm fine."
Abby didn't buy it but she let it pass, "I'll talk to her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, maybe some girl talk would be good for her."

Abby made a B-line for the desk and Susan didn't even notice her. She looked like a wreck. Her hair was disheveled, she was pale, and she looked like she hadn't slept in months.

"Susan," Abby said, trying to snap her out of her daze.

Susan jumped, "I didn't see you there."

"C'mere" Abby said as she motioned towards the lounge. Susan followed blindly, too tired to put up a fight.

They entered the lounge and Susan slumped down on the couch.

"Coffee?" Abby offered. Susan nodded.

Abby handed Susan the steaming cup of coffee and sat down on the couch next to her.

"Susan…" Abby began.

"Don't." Susan tried to stop her.

"Susan, when's the last time you went home?"

Susan just looked at her, the pain evident on her face.

"You can't live here," Abby continued.

"Sure I can," Susan said, attempting humor. "When Mark and I were residents we used to roam around the halls at night…" she trailed off as a tear caught in her throat. "We would make eggs in the cafeteria at four in the morning…" a tear slid down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

"I can still feel him here. If I go home and come back I might lose that feeling."

"No you won't," Abby said confidently. "I can still feel him here too, we'll always feel his presence here."

They were silent for a long moment, Susan's eyes landed on Mark's nameplate on his locker.

"You know that song, you don't know what you've got til it's gone?"

"Mmmhm," Abby replied, wanting Susan to let it all out.

"Mark hated that song," she said with a laugh as she tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. They both took a sip of their coffees and their silence hung in the air. "You know what the crappy part is?" Susan said, "I knew exactly what I had and I threw it away and by the time I came back it was too late. He was my best friend…"

"Did you love him?" Abby asked hesitantly. Tears started streaming down Susan's cheek and Abby's heart went out to her, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it's none of my business."

"No it's okay," Susan replied, not even wiping away the tears this time. "I did love him, I still do, I always will. But nothing ever came from it."

"Why not?" Abby asked, setting her empty coffee cup on the table.

"Timing I guess. He was married and when he finally got divorced I was leaving. He asked me to stay and now I really wish I had…I wish I hadn't run away when he told me he loved me, I wish I had talked to him more while I was gone, I wish I had come back sooner….and then he goes and gets married again months before I come back."

"Timing's a bitch," Abby chimed in.

"Tell me about it…but it never mattered that we weren't together. We had the kind of friendship that just…" she trailed off again, the tears falling even harder now.

"Friendship that eclipsed everything else?" Abby offered.

Susan nodded her head in agreement. Abby took Susan's hand in hers and gave her a reaffirming squeeze. "I know it's not the same, but you've got me for a friend."

Susan squeezed Abby's hand, "That helps. Thanks."

They sat together in silence while Susan tried to compose herself. Carter entered the lounge and silently took a seat next to Susan on the couch.

"Everything alright?" He asked.

"Fine," Susan responded as she stood up and faced them on the couch. "I'm gonna get out of here, can you take my sign outs?"

"Yeah I've got it, go home and get some rest." Carter replied.

Susan gathered her things out of her locker, "Thanks for everything you two."

"Call me if you need anything," Abby replied.

"I will, good night."

"Good night," Abby and Carter called after her as she exited the lounge.

Carter scooted closer to Abby on the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. She laid her head against his body.

"What did you two talk about?" Carter asked.

"Girl stuff. Timing. Not letting opportunities pass you by…" she replied as she took his hand in hers.

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about. Some things we just don't want to hear, and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer. Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do. Some things you say because there's no other choice. Some things you keep to yourself. And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.