Title: Don't Even

Author: L'AmazonMorte

Rating: PG 13

Set: Season eight, cannon through 'A River in Egypt', AU after that.

Primary characters: Elizabeth Corday, Mark Greene, Kerry Weaver

Disclaimers: Don't own ER or any characters from it

"Elizabeth," Mark asked when he heard her enter.

"Hi Mark. Sorry I'm in late. Is the baby asleep?" she asked and walked over to where he was sitting, and gave him a quick kiss as she pulled off her coat.

"Yes. And Rachel's spending the night with a friend."

"Oh, good for her."

"We need to talk," he said gravely.

"Okay. Right now? Or shall I call for dinner?"

"I think now would be best."

"Sure..." he was starting to worry her with his depressed affect.

"I... You should sit down."

"What's wrong, Mark?" Elizabeth asked quietly as she sat next to him on the couch and took his hand.

He took a deep breath, fortifying himself to say what he needed to, "I think... Well... I've been having symptoms."

"Symptoms? Symptoms of what, Mark?"

"I think the tumor might be back. I'm so sorry."

"Oh God, Mark…"

Kerry eased herself down into the armchair in her study and set her crutch against the coffee table. The light on her answering machine was blinking. Three messages. She sighed and got back up, crossed the room, limping heavily without her crutch, and pressed play.

"First message," the machine said in a droning electronic voice, "today at seven thirty PM."

Sandy's voice came on after that, "Kerry. Hi. Haven't heard from you yet. It's been a few days. Cooled off yet? Ready to thank me?"

"Cocky bitch," she mumbled and deleted the message. She didn't even want to think about what Sandy had done. Not without a few drinks in her system.

"Next message, today at eight oh five PM."

"It's Mark. I can't do my shift tomorrow night. I've checked, you're the only one who can cover."

She deleted that message too. It was just like him to assume she was free, and that she would work. No please, no thank you. She'd work the shift, but still... Inconsiderate bastard.

"Next message, today at eight thirty PM."

"Hi, this is Dr. Villeigo's office. Report on your pap smear's back. Give us a call at 888-4321 some time tomorrow after nine in the morning," a cheery secretary said quickly and hung up. She scribbled down the number and made a mental note to call eventually, then took two ibuprofen and went to bed.

I do so love reviews. Future chapters will be longer.