Disclaimer: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.
Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.
Author's Note: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.
Author's Warning: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it is Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)
Families
Chapter 14
Mark strode into Room 2208 with a big smile on his face. "Susan! We have to stop meeting like this." He leaned over her bed for a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't tell me this is about your hiccups."
Susan shook her head resolutely. "Not the hiccups. The endoscopic what's-its-name worked, thank goodness. But I have a fever, so we came back. Meredith and Dr. Bailey say I need intravenous antibiotics, so here I am." She smiled briefly and then gestured for Mark to come closer until he was standing right next to the bed. Susan spoke rapidly in hushed tones.
"Listen Mark, I have to say this quickly because Thatcher and Meredith will be back any minute now. Thatcher didn't want me to come here--you know, because of the history. . . ." Susan paused for a moment at the politely puzzled look on Mark's face, and then realized Mark didn't know anything about the tangled relationship between Thatcher, Richard, and Ellis, so she decided simply to push on. "He was even more insistent that I go back to my regular doctor after you referred us to the "free clinic." I insisted on staying here because it just made sense to be treated where we might get an opportunity to spend time with Meredith. It's going really well. They're spending lots of time together, and I think they're both happy about it. Thatcher is still nervous, though, so anything you can say to reassure him would be good."
"I'll be happy to," said Mark gently. "It won't be hard--Seattle Grace is one of the best hospitals in the country." He patted her hand. "Where does your doctor have admitting privileges, Mercy West?" he asked with just a touch of scorn in his voice.
"I don't know," said Susan. "I haven't needed to be hospitalized since Lexie was born." Her focus switched to the door. "And here they are with my ice chips," she announced in cheerful voice just slightly louder than it had to be.
After polite nods and greetings all around, Susan said, "You know, honey, Mark was just telling me what a great hospital Seattle Grace is. Go on, Mark, tell me some more."
Mark dutifully started reciting a list of SGH's latest awards and grants he'd culled from the SGH website while he was preparing for his interview with the Board of Directors for Chief of Surgery position. He hadn't gone far before Thatcher stopped him with a smile. "Thank you, Mark, for the sales pitch that I'm sure my wife asked you to give me, but it's not necessary. Meredith already told us we're in good hands. We're staying."
"Good," said Meredith, "Dr. Bailey's the best," and she rubbed Mark's back briefly in thanks.
"What have I told you about sucking up, Grey?" asked Miranda as she bustled in.
"She wasn't sucking up," Susan protested. "Meredith didn't even know you were in the room."
The look on Susan's face gave Miranda the uncomfortable feeling that she was standing in front of her own mother. "Grey, don't you have any other patients to see? This woman needs her rest."
Meredith started to say that she'd already rounded on all of her patients, but then decided she could find a patient who needed her attention or perhaps an interesting surgery to observe--at least, until her boss had moved on. She smiled at her father and her stepmother. "I'll check in on you later," she promised with a wiggle of her fingers.
"Listen," said Miranda, once Meredith was safely out of earshot. "You don't have to worry about the way I talk to Meredith. I warn all my interns against sucking up because they think it's a way to get in on surgeries. It takes them time to learn that the less annoying they are, the more likely they are to scrub in."
"Besides," she continued, "I don't like to praise my interns too often. It makes them complacent, and I prefer to keep them on edge. It keeps them hungry to learn. But I want to tell you that Meredith is becoming a fine surgeon. You should both be proud of her."
Mark remained stoic while Susan beamed, each resolving to pass on Bailey's compliment at the earliest opportunity. Thatcher gave an abortive nod of his head to acknowledge her words, but then said, "That's due to her mother. I, uh, I wasn't around much while Meredith was growing up."
Bailey looked at Thatcher and frowned slightly. "The child has your DNA, doesn't she? And you're here now--so be proud now."
Mark decided he had paperwork that couldn't wait any longer. "I have got to get going, too. Dr. Bailey, Susan, Thatcher." And with a nod of his head to each of them, he was gone.
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA
Mark meandered over to the surgical board for a last look before heading home, only to find Susan listed for a bowel repair. His first thought was to page Meredith, assuming that she'd be in the surgical waiting room with Thatcher and might need a break, but he quashed that impulse once he noted disapprovingly that she was listed as the intern on the case. What were they thinking? It's bad enough that Meredith thought it was appropriate to scrub in on her stepmother's surgery. But at least Meredith had the excuse of being family and therefore likely to be irrational by definition. What the hell was wrong with Bailey and the Chief?
A quick conversation with the charge nurse revealed that Susan had been wheeled in as a critical emergency case over an hour ago and that there had been no updates on her status. Mark thought about popping into the OR gallery for an update when he spotted Thatcher pacing in the waiting area. Damn!
Mark's stomach twisted. Aside from the abundant list of obvious reasons he had to despise Thatcher, there was something . . . something else about the man he couldn't put into words but knew that it spelled trouble. Something familiar that he just couldn't put his finger on. . . .
OR or waiting room? Waiting room or OR? Mark knew which he preferred, but couldn't escape the conviction that Susan and Meredith would both want him to be in the waiting room. Mark thought back to Meredith's earlier characterization of him as part of her family and groaned internally. It wasn't fair, he thought. Yes, Meredith was a good friend, and friendship carries its own obligations--but it just wasn't fair that he should be feeling burdened by a relationship that was supposed to be all about fun and games--a relief from all the already complicated relationships in his life. Fuck!
While Mark stood at the charge nurse's station, trying to make up his mind, George walked up to him. "Hi, Dr. Sloan. Are you here to see Meredith's dad, too?"
Discomfited by suddenly being asked to declare his intentions, Mark decided to stall. "Now why would I do that, O'Malley?" he asked sternly.
George smiled uncertainly, not quite sure how to respond to the challenge in Mark's tone. "Susan's surgery. Meredith paged us. I thought . . . I thought she might have. . . ." George looked around hurriedly for a distraction as Mark's expression remained impassive. He hadn't intended to anger the sometimes irascible plastic surgeon, but it looked as if he were well on the way to doing so. "Muffin!" he said brightly, holding up a large banana blueberry muffin. "Izzie. Surgery. M.V.A. She sent me to get the muffin from her locker for . . . him." George pointed vaguely toward the waiting area. "Going now." George waited for some indication from Mark that he'd been dismissed. "Dr. Sloan?" He finally walked away when it became clear that Mark was not going to give him any kind of a response.
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA
Mark turned away with a nod of satisfaction. It seemed fitting that George would be the one to take care of Thatcher, thought Mark sardonically. He could almost see the "family resemblance" there.
Relieved of his "family obligation," Mark strolled toward the gallery. The usual handful of interns and residents was watching, taking an opportunity to learn something while taking a break between more urgent assignments. Mark's immediate impulse was to order them out, but he restrained himself. If Meredith didn't mind her stepmother's surgery being a public event--and she apparently didn't, since he saw her standing by Susan's head, oblivious to the stares from up above--he didn't feel authorized to close the gallery.
Within moments, Mark, too, forgot about all the others in the gallery. The flurry on the floor made it obvious that things weren't going well. As the tense minutes stretched out, Mark found himself wishing he believed in some God just so that he could contribute to the efforts of the surgical team, even if it was by something as stupid as prayer.
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA
Although the wait seemed to take forever, less than fifteen minutes after Mark entered the gallery, Bailey called the time of death. The other gallery observers filed out noisily, making guesses as to the cause of death and wondering whether there would be an M & M conference. Stunned by disbelief, Mark remained behind, sitting with his head cradled in his hands.
Although he knew the uselessness of questioning the outcome of the surgery--some patients survive against all odds and others die for no good reason at all--he couldn't help but feel that the outcome was unfair. The woman came in with hiccups. Hiccups! A shot of chlorpromazine should have ended the problem.
Damn. He was going to miss Susan. She had a way of making him feel . . . like a good man, the kind of man he could be proud to be, instead of the dirty manwhore everyone else--including Meredith--saw him as.
After a few minutes, Mark realized he should go down to the scrub room and find Meredith. This had to be much harder on her than it was on him. Losing two mothers in the space of a couple of months was more than anyone should have to bear--especially since this probably meant she'd be losing Thatcher, too.
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA
By the time Mark got downstairs, Meredith, Bailey, and Richard had already exited. He watched Bailey and Richard stop at the doorway while Meredith went to talk to her (now Georgeless) father. Mark stepped around and to the right side of Richard so he could get a better view. Much to his surprise, Meredith, who clearly had been crying and was on the verge of doing so again, was the surgeon approaching her father. Family member or not, Mark fumed, she was the last person who should have been given that responsibility. Again, Mark wondered what the hell Bailey and the Chief were thinking.
From the look on his face and agitated gestures, it became obvious that Thatcher didn't need words to let him know what had happened, even as he struggled to hold on to the hope that he was wrong.
Meredith, trembling at her own sense of loss, and grief, and irrational guilt, struggled to find the words she could use that might soften the blow of her news, knowing she was about to break her father's heart. She finally fell back on the ritual words she used when speaking to family members of any patient. "We...we did everything...we could."
Thatcher, wild-eyed, waved his hands powerlessly, finally grabbing on to his own head in an effort to stabilize what had suddenly become a whirling universe. He couldn't--he wouldn't believe what he was hearing. It just didn't make sense. Not for something as simple as hiccups, and not at what his daughter and every other joker in a white coat had assured him was the best hospital on the West coast. "You . . . you said it was really simple, and that it was this . . . small thing.
"It was," she protested helplessly, her tears starting to flow again. Every single thing they'd done for Susan was done by the book, but she died anyway. How could she make sense of it for him when she was still struggling to make sense of it for herself?
A sudden burst of hatred seized Thatcher. He'd known, he'd known that coming to Seattle Grace was a bad idea. Seattle Grace was where Ellis had left him and her adulterous lover had risen to Chief of Surgery. But because Meredith, the daughter of that bitch whore, had told Susan what a wonderful hospital this was, she stayed. She came, she stayed, and she died. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen. Meredith had given her word that Susan was receiving the best possible care. Almost of its own volition, Thatcher's hand slapped Meredith so hard that her face was turned entirely to the side.
"She had the hiccups," he raged, instinctively grabbing on to that rage to hide from the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. "She came here . . . because . . . because she trusted you. I trusted you."
Meredith stared at her father, too in shock to be able to react to what he had done. Then, overwhelmed by too much and too many emotions, she turned to flee . . . only to run right into Mark, who was moving toward her to protect her from further assault. He tried grabbing at her chin to see if Thatcher had done any serious physical damage, but she pushed right past him and ran down the hall.
For a brief second, Mark thought about following Meredith, but then decided his efforts would be better spent getting Thatcher out of the hospital. He could find Meredith later.
Thatcher was still clutching at his head and ranting about Susan's hiccups when he suddenly found that his right arm was pinned behind his back and he was gently but firmly being frog-marched out of the waiting room and toward the elevator bank.
"I think it's time for you to leave, Dr. Grey," Mark growled into Thatcher's ear. He could hear Richard calling his name, but he ignored it. There was plenty of time after he came back to take care of Richard and Bailey.
Thatcher was too dazed to resist at first, but he seemed to gather his wits while they waited for an elevator. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch," Thatcher protested as he struggled to get out of Mark's grip. "You're one of the people who convinced my wife to get treated here. You're part of the reason she's dead!"
Mark held his grip steadily, resisting the urge to twist or pull Thatcher's arm to point of causing pain. As it was, Thatcher might just as well have been struggling against a moving stone wall for all the leeway Mark was allowing him. "You're more right than you will ever know about calling me a son of a bitch, Dr. Grey, but this is about you, not me," said Mark impassively.
At that moment, the elevator came--and fortunately for Mark's intentions, its lone passenger got out on their floor. That passenger, a resident, looked curiously at the struggle going on between the two men, but was warned off by the glare Mark sent in his direction. By the time Thatcher thought of asking for help, the elevator was already on its way to the lobby.
Thatcher renewed his struggles. His efforts to loosen Mark's grip were futile, and his attempt to kick his way to freedom resulted in his arm being forced further behind his back. Any further attempt to escape at all, even a twitch, would result in real pain. Mark spoke directly into Thatcher's ear again. "Dr. Grey, you lost a wonderful wife today. The only reason I'm not returning the slap you gave to Meredith--with interest--is that neither Susan nor Meredith would want me to, and I'm respecting their wishes. But I'm warning you--if you ever try to hurt Meredith again in any way--I'll start following my own wishes." Mark gave Thatcher's arm a little warning jerk, causing the older man to grunt. "I promise you won't like what happens next."
When the elevator door opened in the lobby, there were four security officers waiting for them. Two of then stepped up to Thatcher. "We're here to escort you to your car, sir," said the taller of the two.
Mark released Thatcher without shoving him--another temptation successfully resisted. "Go home, Dr. Grey. Talk to Susan's daughters. Talk to the funeral home. Talk to whoever you have to. But until you're ready to apologize to Meredith, I don't want you talking to her at all. Have I made myself clear?"
Thatcher glared at Mark. He would have loved to have relieved some of his pent up feelings by taking a swing or two at Mark, but what little remained of his wits warned him against such a foolish move. "You don't understand," he said bitterly. "You shouldn't have taken her from me. Susan was all I had. My daughters are grown and have lives of their own. Susan was all I had." Thatcher began crying. "All I had."
At this point, one of the security officers took Thatcher by the arm and started leading him toward the front doors of the hospital while her partner trailed behind.
The remaining two officers turned toward Mark. "Dr. Sloan, Chief Webber would like to see you in his office immediately. Do we need to escort you?"
Mark snorted in disgust. Going after Bailey and the Chief were the very next items on his to-do list; the fact that the Chief thought that he'd need to be dragged there was just more evidence of what an idiot the man was. "You can come along for the ride if you want to," said Mark casually, "but you might want to stick around for the action."