Author's notes: This piece is a little weird, and kinda short. I was just considering Mark's demise. I don't know where it came from, or if it works. But I decided I'd just be brave and put it out there. I just happened across it tonight when I was feeling more than a little maudlin…r/r please.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will, don't make any money from writing this – just do it to be cathartic.
"Harsh Light Of Day"
The lone figure stands out a mile in the still of an early Chicago morning. The sunlight has a strange quality to it, as if it isn't quite awake yet either.
The grave he is standing over also stands out a mile. In a cemetery filled with established mausoleums, beautiful old ceremonial trees and overgrown headstones, this relatively new grave seems an anomaly. It is out of place. It is wrong.
But he is in no doubt that this is real, not now. Some things have to be seen to be believed, and this is one of those things. If he hadn't seen it, he would have thought Mark Greene's death notice a sick practical joke, or a figment of his imagination.
And something in him had forced him to come. Respect, he guessed, or something similar. Perhaps a sense of awe or even a tinge of guilt too.
He'd been too much of an emotional coward to face the living at the funeral, but had found the strength to honour the dead privately.
He is so wrapped up in the intensity of the moment he's in that he fails to notice her approach. An insignificant figure at first, dressed plainly in a grey sweater and jeans, it is only the fact she is carrying an infant that marks her out as someone important.
She is surprised to see someone else at the graveside. This is normally her time with her beloved husband, or her memories of him at least. She is even more surprised when she is close enough to identify the figure. She falls back for a moment, unwilling or unable to intrude on what she knows will be a private moment.
Her baby murmurs something unrecognisable as she sleeps, and in the silence the whisper becomes a scream. He turns and sees her for the first time.
He takes a step back and moves to walk away.
"Wait,"
She calls out rashly. She must acknowledge him, as she feels he has her just by visiting. She steps towards the grave, trying not to look at the headstone so she can keep her composure.
"Elizabeth,"
She can hear fear in his voice, but instantly notes the lack of pity. The baby shifts her weight awkwardly.
"How are you?"
She looks at his face. He hasn't changed any, although his eyes are downcast, refusing to meet hers. His answer comes too easily.
"Fine,"
Fine compare to whom though? She wonders idly.
"I didn't see you at the funeral,"
She watches the almost imperceptible shake of his head. Why was he so afraid? Was it of her as a person or what he felt she represented in terms of the man in the grave beside him?
"No,"
He pauses, obviously searching for the least offensive words to use.
"I couldn't face it,"
He stated simply, giving up his struggle for eloquency. She knew his sentiment was genuine. She had to be there; otherwise she probably would have backed out too.
"I thought about it though,"
He added, aware he was on fragile ground.
"It's not important,"
"I couldn't believe it, when I heard,"
He said suddenly, his way of saying "I'm so sorry" without actually saying it. She was relieved actually, because she'd heard so many hollow sorries recently it made her want to scream.
"I should go,"
He fidgeted awkwardly in the silence. She couldn't answer, not without showing her emotions which she was desperate not to do. He did have work to get to yet today, nightmarish though he knew it would be. She nodded solemnly.
"Thank you for coming,"
She added quietly, watching his receding back, leaving her alone in the cool, morning air. The baby woke up and she placed her on the ground gently, before kneeling herself. He turned back when he was far enough away not to be intrusive and watched her fall apart privately. Suddenly, he felt very small next to the tower of the widow's grief. He didn't look back again.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will, don't make any money from writing this – just do it to be cathartic.
"Harsh Light Of Day"
The lone figure stands out a mile in the still of an early Chicago morning. The sunlight has a strange quality to it, as if it isn't quite awake yet either.
The grave he is standing over also stands out a mile. In a cemetery filled with established mausoleums, beautiful old ceremonial trees and overgrown headstones, this relatively new grave seems an anomaly. It is out of place. It is wrong.
But he is in no doubt that this is real, not now. Some things have to be seen to be believed, and this is one of those things. If he hadn't seen it, he would have thought Mark Greene's death notice a sick practical joke, or a figment of his imagination.
And something in him had forced him to come. Respect, he guessed, or something similar. Perhaps a sense of awe or even a tinge of guilt too.
He'd been too much of an emotional coward to face the living at the funeral, but had found the strength to honour the dead privately.
He is so wrapped up in the intensity of the moment he's in that he fails to notice her approach. An insignificant figure at first, dressed plainly in a grey sweater and jeans, it is only the fact she is carrying an infant that marks her out as someone important.
She is surprised to see someone else at the graveside. This is normally her time with her beloved husband, or her memories of him at least. She is even more surprised when she is close enough to identify the figure. She falls back for a moment, unwilling or unable to intrude on what she knows will be a private moment.
Her baby murmurs something unrecognisable as she sleeps, and in the silence the whisper becomes a scream. He turns and sees her for the first time.
He takes a step back and moves to walk away.
"Wait,"
She calls out rashly. She must acknowledge him, as she feels he has her just by visiting. She steps towards the grave, trying not to look at the headstone so she can keep her composure.
"Elizabeth,"
She can hear fear in his voice, but instantly notes the lack of pity. The baby shifts her weight awkwardly.
"How are you?"
She looks at his face. He hasn't changed any, although his eyes are downcast, refusing to meet hers. His answer comes too easily.
"Fine,"
Fine compare to whom though? She wonders idly.
"I didn't see you at the funeral,"
She watches the almost imperceptible shake of his head. Why was he so afraid? Was it of her as a person or what he felt she represented in terms of the man in the grave beside him?
"No,"
He pauses, obviously searching for the least offensive words to use.
"I couldn't face it,"
He stated simply, giving up his struggle for eloquency. She knew his sentiment was genuine. She had to be there; otherwise she probably would have backed out too.
"I thought about it though,"
He added, aware he was on fragile ground.
"It's not important,"
"I couldn't believe it, when I heard,"
He said suddenly, his way of saying "I'm so sorry" without actually saying it. She was relieved actually, because she'd heard so many hollow sorries recently it made her want to scream.
"I should go,"
He fidgeted awkwardly in the silence. She couldn't answer, not without showing her emotions which she was desperate not to do. He did have work to get to yet today, nightmarish though he knew it would be. She nodded solemnly.
"Thank you for coming,"
She added quietly, watching his receding back, leaving her alone in the cool, morning air. The baby woke up and she placed her on the ground gently, before kneeling herself. He turned back when he was far enough away not to be intrusive and watched her fall apart privately. Suddenly, he felt very small next to the tower of the widow's grief. He didn't look back again.