He found himself in the middle of the ER, doing something, anything, to
take his mind off how the meeting between her and Morris' father must be
going. Even if it meant being down in the ER seeing all the patients that
came in through the doors, before he saw something else walk through those
same doors, the familiar red curly hair slightly tinged with the snow that
had just picked up again. How it could snow straight through March was
something that he still marveled at, despite having been in Chicago for
almost twenty years.
He followed her with his eyes, searching for some hint of her mood as she approached the admit desk. "Ah, Lizzie, forget something?" He questioned, setting the chart he was holding down in the rack for some other doctor to pick up. He leaned against the desk with his good hand and watched her, looking for a clue of how her meeting went. She seemed happier than she had been going to the meeting, which was always a good sign, but he didn't know exactly what had transpired between her and the elder Morris.
"No actually. I was looking for Kerry, have you seen her?" She asked, looking for the chief of staff since he had been removed from the position. He shook his head with glee at the fact that he didn't have to face the othr doctor.
"Nope, don't think she's on today." He said almost joyfully. "What do you need?" He questioned, hoping to be of some help. He followed her through the halls, as she waited for an elevator.
"I needed to talk to her about something." She said, purposely avoiding the subject. He nodded, knowing exactly what she was doing. He stood with her at the elevator as she punched the button for the fourth floor, the surgical floor.
"Have you cleaned out your office yet?" He questioned, knowing that she had no other reason to be going up to the surgical floor. She shook her head. "Do you need a hand?" He questioned, inwardly bashing himself for the bad pun that he left hanging. He saw her realization of it with the small smirk on her face.
"No, it's fine, I'm sure you have other things to do." She pointed out to him, but now it was his turn to shake his head.
"Actually I don't, but I understand if you want to do this alone." He said, letting her decide. He didn't want to impose on her, he knew he'd already done a lot for her. She was thankful for everything he'd done, both of them knew that, but he could see why she'd want to clear out her office herself.
"No, no, it's fine." She could use the helping hand, there wasn't anything really personal in there, but there was a lot of things, CD's, files, a lot of things that didn't really matter much to her, but that needed to be packed. They reached her office, and she found that someone had already placed a few boxes in it, ready for her to wipe the very last traces that the surgeon existed from anywhere in the hospital. She looked at the bookcase, filled with an eclectic mix of both medical journals and a few books that she read on her own free time, when it wasn't filled with the incessant amounts of paperwork that she had gotten, first as associate chief of surgery, and now as cheif of surgery. "You want to start on that?" She asked him, and he picked up a box with a faint smile.
He packed the box almost wordless, occasionally commenting on the books he was packing away while she checked the filing cabinet for any files that wouldn't just get passed on to whoever else they chose for Chief of Surgery. She found none, the cabinet full of old records, nothing that lent anything personal to the cabinet except for a few drawings from Ella that she had stuck to the metal cabinet magnets. She turned her attention instead to the desk.
He folded the box shut, and picked up a fresh one to work on the next bookcase, leaving most of the boring medical journals that he knew were just there to make the office look more official. He reached her CD collection and he couldn't resist a few jabs here. "The Sex Pistols? Really Lizzie, if you're going to listen to British punk rock, at least pick a halfway decent band." She gave him an odd look as she looked at him placing the CD in the box.
He could see her fighting the bemused grin that spread across her face when he mentioned it. Sure, he was never exactly the biggest supporter of punk rock when he was younger, but he could remember a few concerts that he had gone to. He knew that while he was in here, he had the biggest chance to tell her how he really felt. He knew that he told her already when sedated, but he knew that she had just written it off as the drugs.
He finished off the bookcases, and went to help her with her desk. She had started on one set of drawers, he started on the other, laughing at the various personal items she had tucked away, everything from a spare set of stockings to an extra pager and a backup watch. "Always prepared?" he said chuckling at his own little joke as he placed everything neatly in the box. She glared but smiled at the same time, just thankful that he was there to help her. She didn't know if she could do it alone.
He wanted to tell her, but he found the words to catch in his throat. He couldn't tell her, not now, not in here, the room was uncomfortably small. He finished off the drawer before moving to the one above, too conscious of the small gap between them, the gap that could be broached by one arm, all he'd have to do is wrap his one good arm around her and pull her close and tell her how he felt, but he couldn't, he panicked. Even more so when the first thing that he pulled out of the drawer was a picture of her and Mark, looking happy as could be together.
He followed her with his eyes, searching for some hint of her mood as she approached the admit desk. "Ah, Lizzie, forget something?" He questioned, setting the chart he was holding down in the rack for some other doctor to pick up. He leaned against the desk with his good hand and watched her, looking for a clue of how her meeting went. She seemed happier than she had been going to the meeting, which was always a good sign, but he didn't know exactly what had transpired between her and the elder Morris.
"No actually. I was looking for Kerry, have you seen her?" She asked, looking for the chief of staff since he had been removed from the position. He shook his head with glee at the fact that he didn't have to face the othr doctor.
"Nope, don't think she's on today." He said almost joyfully. "What do you need?" He questioned, hoping to be of some help. He followed her through the halls, as she waited for an elevator.
"I needed to talk to her about something." She said, purposely avoiding the subject. He nodded, knowing exactly what she was doing. He stood with her at the elevator as she punched the button for the fourth floor, the surgical floor.
"Have you cleaned out your office yet?" He questioned, knowing that she had no other reason to be going up to the surgical floor. She shook her head. "Do you need a hand?" He questioned, inwardly bashing himself for the bad pun that he left hanging. He saw her realization of it with the small smirk on her face.
"No, it's fine, I'm sure you have other things to do." She pointed out to him, but now it was his turn to shake his head.
"Actually I don't, but I understand if you want to do this alone." He said, letting her decide. He didn't want to impose on her, he knew he'd already done a lot for her. She was thankful for everything he'd done, both of them knew that, but he could see why she'd want to clear out her office herself.
"No, no, it's fine." She could use the helping hand, there wasn't anything really personal in there, but there was a lot of things, CD's, files, a lot of things that didn't really matter much to her, but that needed to be packed. They reached her office, and she found that someone had already placed a few boxes in it, ready for her to wipe the very last traces that the surgeon existed from anywhere in the hospital. She looked at the bookcase, filled with an eclectic mix of both medical journals and a few books that she read on her own free time, when it wasn't filled with the incessant amounts of paperwork that she had gotten, first as associate chief of surgery, and now as cheif of surgery. "You want to start on that?" She asked him, and he picked up a box with a faint smile.
He packed the box almost wordless, occasionally commenting on the books he was packing away while she checked the filing cabinet for any files that wouldn't just get passed on to whoever else they chose for Chief of Surgery. She found none, the cabinet full of old records, nothing that lent anything personal to the cabinet except for a few drawings from Ella that she had stuck to the metal cabinet magnets. She turned her attention instead to the desk.
He folded the box shut, and picked up a fresh one to work on the next bookcase, leaving most of the boring medical journals that he knew were just there to make the office look more official. He reached her CD collection and he couldn't resist a few jabs here. "The Sex Pistols? Really Lizzie, if you're going to listen to British punk rock, at least pick a halfway decent band." She gave him an odd look as she looked at him placing the CD in the box.
He could see her fighting the bemused grin that spread across her face when he mentioned it. Sure, he was never exactly the biggest supporter of punk rock when he was younger, but he could remember a few concerts that he had gone to. He knew that while he was in here, he had the biggest chance to tell her how he really felt. He knew that he told her already when sedated, but he knew that she had just written it off as the drugs.
He finished off the bookcases, and went to help her with her desk. She had started on one set of drawers, he started on the other, laughing at the various personal items she had tucked away, everything from a spare set of stockings to an extra pager and a backup watch. "Always prepared?" he said chuckling at his own little joke as he placed everything neatly in the box. She glared but smiled at the same time, just thankful that he was there to help her. She didn't know if she could do it alone.
He wanted to tell her, but he found the words to catch in his throat. He couldn't tell her, not now, not in here, the room was uncomfortably small. He finished off the drawer before moving to the one above, too conscious of the small gap between them, the gap that could be broached by one arm, all he'd have to do is wrap his one good arm around her and pull her close and tell her how he felt, but he couldn't, he panicked. Even more so when the first thing that he pulled out of the drawer was a picture of her and Mark, looking happy as could be together.