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E.R.
Union Station: Coming Home
By: Emma Day
Part Seven
The cab dropped her just outside. Looking up, she was
suddenly afraid that this was not such a good idea. IF THE
LIGHTS ARE ON, I'LL KNOW THEY'RE IN, she told herself. I'LL
KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, AND THEN I'LL LEAVE. With a heart
racing, she walked around to the side of the building, and
looked up towards her - Mark's - apartment. She sighed with
relief, when she saw the windows were dark.
THEY'RE NOT HERE! She smiled for the first time in hours.
But her jubilation didn't last long. THEY MUST BE AT HER
PLACE, she realised. UNLESS, THEY'RE ALREADY IN BED. Her
heart started thudding in her chest again. I WONDER IF HER
NAME'S ON THE MAIL BOX? Her hand inched towards her purse.
The key was in there. She looked up again at the dark
windows. THERE'S NO ONE IN, SHE TOLD HERSELF. JUST GO BACK
TO THE HOTEL AND GO TO BED. But even as she thought it, she
found herself walking towards the entrance. DON'T DO IT, she
shouted at herself, but to no avail. I'LL JUST LOOK AT THE
MAIL BOX. I HAVE TO KNOW THE TRUTH! All was silence in the
lobby. She found her old mail box and smiled; Mark Greene,
was all it said. Fondly, she touched his name with one
finger, and looked over towards the elevator. DON'T GO UP
THERE, she warned herself. BUT I HAVE TO KNOW! I'LL JUST SEE
IF I CAN HEAR ANYTHING AT THE DOOR.
Her knees were shaking as she walked down the familiar
corridor towards her old apartment. It all looked the same.
WHY DID I EVER LEAVE?
She stopped outside the door. The elevator whirred into
motion behind her, and she nearly jumped into the air. WHAT
THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? she asked herself again. Casting
a furtive look around, she leaned up against the door,
listening. Nothing. All was silence. RIGHT. THEY'RE NOT
THERE, NOW GO BACK TO THE HOTEL! She didn't move. IF THEY'RE
SERIOUS SHE'LL HAVE HER TOOTHBRUSH IN THE BATHROOM. The
thought just popped into her head, and stubbornly lodged
there. It wouldn't take long to check. Just pop in. She'd
be able to tell quick enough. Her hands trembled as she tried
to fit the key in the lock, all the while her mind was
shouting at her; THIS IS CRAZY. HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? GO!
DON'T DO IT! She did it anyway.
The lock released, and she gently pushed on the door. Her
heart was thundering so loud, she was sure it would wake the
whole block.
"Mark?" she whispered into the darkness. There was no answer.
She took a step inside. "Mark? Are you here?" she called a
little louder. Still there was no answer. With shaking
hands, she flicked the light switch, and spun around, almost
ready to run. But she was alone. She released the breath she
had been unwittingly holding, and closed the door behind her.
Looking around, the apartment looked familiar, and yet totally
different. It didn't look like Mark spent a lot of time
there. Remembering her mission, she walked quickly into the
bathroom. Only one toothbrush. She smiled to herself, and
then shook her head. YOU'RE CRAZY. THIS IS PROBABLY SOME
KIND OF CRIME. She knew it, but couldn't regret coming.
Walking back into the lounge, she looked about for any
photographs of Mark and Bernie. She saw a picture of Rachel,
on top of a small, open desk, but nothing more. She picked up
the photograph and smiled, as she picked out Mark's features
in his daughter's face.
She glanced down at the desk. It was full of all sorts of
papers, stuffed into unorganised piles. She was about to turn
away, when something caught her eye. Sticking out of a small
draw at the back of the desk was a piece of paper with her
name written on it. At least, it said Susan. Her fingers
clenched into fists as she looked, and willed herself to do
the right thing. DON'T LOOK AT IT, she told herself. IT'S
PRIVATE. She stared at it some more, and her fingers started
to tingle with anticipation. YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE WHAT YOU SEE.
Her heart raced, and she found herself breathing very fast.
JUST ONE PEEK. JUST TO SEE IF IT'S ME. She knew she
shouldn't do it, she hated herself for doing it, but she did
it anyway. With shaking hands, she pulled open the little
draw, and drew out the paper. She instantly saw that it was
a letter. Actually, a number of letters. They were all
addressed to her, and dated variously throughout the past
eight months.
Her knees had turned to water, and her hands shook so hard
that she was forced to lay the letters on the desk and sit
down to read them. THIS IS SO WRONG, she told herself, even
as her eyes devoured the first words. They turned her heart
to liquid.
"Susan," she read, "You have been gone four hours already, and
it seems like forever. I can still taste your kiss, and feel
your touch. If I close my eyes, I can hear your voice, and
see your beautiful smile. Was it only this morning, that we
were working together? It feels like a world away, a whole
other life away. How will I bear this? How can I live my
life without you? I never knew how much I loved you until the
moment I knew I had lost you. But perhaps I never had you.
If you felt a thousandth part of the love I feel for you, you
couldn't have left me today. My heart is broken Susan.
You've broken my heart. And, without you here, who can I turn
to for comfort?"
Susan sniffed, and wiped at the bitter tears that flooded her
eyes. WHAT HAVE I DONE? Without pausing, she turned to the
next letter. It was dated a week later.
"I spoke to you this evening, Susan," it began, "you sounded
distant and embarrassed. So was I. I wanted to talk about
what happened at the station, but I didn't have the courage.
No surprise there. I didn't even send the letter I wrote you.
Perhaps you want to forget it. Perhaps that's the best idea.
You made it clear - our lives are going in different
directions now. I don't know what direction yours is going,
but mine's definitely going downhill. I miss you every day,
every second. At work, I expect to see you all the time. In
the lounge, in the canteen, at the admissions desk. I
remember you everywhere. I saw your locker yesterday, without
your name, and it really hurt. I mean physical pain. I wake
up every morning, and know that you are gone. I go to sleep
every night thinking of you. God, I wish I could get over
this. I know it's only been a week, but it feels like
forever. I love you, Susan. But it hurts, it really hurts.
She put the letters down. She'd had no idea that she had hurt
him so much. Truthfully, she knew, she had tried not to think
about it. It had made her feel too guilty. HE MUST HATE ME,
she realised with an icy shiver that stopped her warm tears.
AFTER ALL THAT, HE MUST HATE ME. She returned her eyes to the
letters, and shuffled through them, searching for the date.
When she saw one dated that morning, her heart jolted
painfully. She let the others fall from her numb fingers as
she started to read the letter. Terror at what she might find
blurred her vision, and she had to blink several times before
she could focus on the words.
"You came back yesterday. I saw you in the ER. How could you
do that, and not even warn me? Just when I thought I was
getting my life back into some kind of order, you show up and
turn it all upside down. You looked the same as ever. I
could hardly look at you. Why is it so much harder in person?
On the phone, I can deal with you. I thought I was getting
over you, but I wasn't. I was just repressing it all,
pretending to myself that I was Ok. But when I saw you, it
all came crashing in. You were standing about two feet away.
I could hear your breathing, smell your hair. But there was
this thing between us. Like a wall. If only I hadn't said
anything before you left, perhaps things could have stayed the
same. But now it's all changed. You look at me with pity.
That awful look I saw when you left. We can't be friends any
more. Everything's changed. Everything, except...
Susan heard a key turn in the door. "Shit!" she hissed,
jumping to her feet and knocking over the chair in her haste.
Desperately, she tried to stuff the letters back into the
drawer, but it was too late.
"Jesus!" Mark yelped, startled. "Susan...?"
She turned to face him with guilt written in every feature.
"Mark I...."
"How did you...?" He was staring at her in astonishment,
until his gaze fell on the letter she still held in her hand.
His eyes blazed in sudden anger, and his face went dark.
"What are you doing?"
In two quick strides he was in front of her, snatching the
letter from her hand. He glanced at it once, and screwed it
up in his fist, glaring at her open mouthed. "How dare you?"
he said at last. His voice was cold fury.
"I'm sorry," she babbled, shame making her voice thick. "I
didn't mean to, I just saw my name and I..."
He turned away from her, and stood staring out of the window,
his back to her. "Did you read them all?" he asked in a
terribly controlled voice. She could see his hand shaking as
he rested it against the window frame.
"Some of them," she admitted. "Mark I didn't know how you
felt..."
He spun around to face her. "What?" he snapped. "Of course
you knew. I TOLD you! You do remember what happened at the
station, don't you?" His voice was heavy with bitter sarcasm.
"You didn't tell me all this."
He closed his eyes, seeking control. "You knew Susan," he
said.
"How did I know?" she asked, suddenly angry. "You waited
until I was on the train, before you told me how you felt.
And then you never mentioned it again. How am I supposed to
know anything from that?"
He scowled at the floor. "You knew how I felt, and you didn't
want me," he said in a voice thick with emotion. "You made
that clear."
"I didn't make anything clear!" she exclaimed.
He gave a short laugh, and looked up, his eyes bitter. "You
left, Susan. That was pretty clear."
"Damn it Mark!" She was almost shouting at him. "The train
was practically pulling out of the station. What the hell did
you expect me to do? Jump off and leave everything? Leave my
new job, my career? What?"
He glared at her in silence for a moment, before his eyes
softened into confusion, and he looked away. "I don't know,"
he said. "I just know that I couldn't have left YOU like
that."
She felt her chest constricting as he spoke, and took an
involuntary step towards him.
Her movement caught his eye, and he looked up. Stepping
backward, he straightened his shoulders. "Well, it's done
now," he said in a cold voice. "It's too late to change
anything."
"Is it?" she asked quietly.
"Everything's changed, Susan."
EVERYTHING'S CHANGED. It was the truth, and how it hurt. If
only she'd known, really known, how he felt. If only she'd
known her OWN heart. If only.... But now he had Bernadette,
and everything had changed.
"I didn't know how much you were hurting," she told him in a
sad voice. "I never meant to hurt you." She saw him wince at
that.
"Please don't pity me," he said.
"I don't, Mark. Why should I? You have Bernadette," if that
came out as bitter, she didn't care. "I have no one."
Mark turned away from her. He picked up the chair she had
knocked over, and started gathering up the letters that were
scattered across the desk.
"Why didn't you send them?" she asked softly.
"Because you wouldn't have wanted to get them," he snapped.
He had his back to her as he spoke, but she could see his
hands shaking as he tidied the letters away.
"I'm sorry..."
"Don't be." He slammed the desk shut, and walked passed her
towards the kitchen. "It's not your fault."
"I wish you'd sent them."
He turned, his face pale. "What do you want from me Susan?"
he asked bitterly.
She was silent for a moment. The truth, she thought. Why
not? That's why you came here, isn't it? "I want to ask you
a question," she said at last.
He stared at her blankly.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, trying and keep her
stomach from twisting right up into her throat, she said,
"Are you in love with Bernadette Conley?"
"Bernadette Conley?" he seemed genuinely confused. "Of course
not, why...?" Then he remembered something and frowned. "Oh,
I guess I kind of mislead you about that."
Susan felt her heart beat faster. "Really? You mean you lied
to me?"
He stared at her, defiance in his eyes. "Yes, I lied. So
what?" Then he sighed wearily, and his anger lost some of its
edge. "It just made things easier. I'm sorry."
HE'D LIED! She didn't care. HE DIDN'T LOVE BERNADETTE! Her
heart pounded in her chest, and she felt herself begin to
tremble.
"Susan, why are you here?" he asked suddenly, pain evident in
his voice.
"I wanted to see you," she told him. Not quite the truth, but
close enough. "You've been avoiding me."
He didn't reply at first, but looked down at the crumpled
letter he still held in his hand. "Well, now you know why,"
he said in a quiet, reserved tone. "I'm sorry that I ruined
our friendship, but I can't help the way I feel."
Susan's heart raced, and blood rushed to her face. TELL HIM,
she told herself. TELL HIM NOW! But her tongue stuck to the
roof of her mouth.
Mark misunderstood her silence. "I'm sorry," he said again,
his voice cracking slightly. "It's late, shall I call you a
cab?"
She knew how he was feeling. She had felt it herself, only
minutes earlier. It was that, more than anything else, that
forced her to speak.
"No," she said. Her voice came out in little more than a
whisper.
He looked at her, his face serious, and his eyes as gentle as
she remembered.
"Mark," she began, "I realised something this evening." Her
lips were dry,and she licked them nervously. "When I saw you
with Bernadette, I realised that I was wrong. That I thought
our relationship was one thing, when it was actually something
else. Or at least, it should have been. Am I making myself
clear?"
"Not exactly," Mark said cautiously, but a barely believed,
barely concealed, hope shone in his eyes. He took a couple of
hesitant steps closer. "Carry on."
"I thought we were best friends. Well, we are, but I thought
that's all we were. When I left I thought...I thought
that...." she shook her head, and looked down. "I don't know
what I thought, Mark. I was an idiot."
He stared at her in astonished silence for a long moment, and
then walked slowly towards her. She looked up. He was
standing very near her, and she could feel his breath brushing
her cheek. He was breathing fast, and his eyes met hers with
a look of such intensity that she very nearly couldn't speak.
"What I mean is, that I feel more than I thought I did."
"Feel more what?" He was leaning into her, almost touching
her.
"You know," she breathed.
"No," he whispered. "Tell me."
"You were right," she said softly, "we can't be friends any
more." He flinched, and impulsively she reached out and
touched his arm. "We have to be more than friends, Mark.
That is," she looked up, smiling at the delight she saw shine
in his eyes, "if you still want me."
He didn't answer, but closed the gap between them with a kiss.
Susan relaxed into his embrace with a heady relief that quite
took her breath away.
Eventually, he pushed her gently back, so that he could look
into her face. "I can hardly believe this," he said in a
voice full of emotion.
She smiled at him, grinned at him. "Neither can I," she
admitted, almost giggling with excitement. "But it's great
isn't it?"
"That doesn't even begin to describe it!" He shook his head,
still gazing into her eyes. "I thought I'd lost you Susan.
When you got on that train, and left I just...."
"Don't!" she exclaimed, covering her face with her hands.
"Don't even think about it. I can't believe what an idiot I
was."
He grunted. "You must have thought I was an idiot, the way I
acted."
She looked up at him sharply. "No!" sliding her arms around
his waist she smiled up at him. "I never thought that, Mark.
I don't know what I was thinking, I can't explain it. I guess
I just couldn't take it in right then, or I didn't want to.
But I was the idiot, not you."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "But nothing's changed," he
said in a suddenly serious voice. "You're still living in
Phoenix. How can we...."
She stopped his words with another kiss. "Not now Mark," she
whispered close to his ear. "We'll work it all out later.
Don't worry, everything will work out fine. I know it."
"Who's worrying?" he breathed, and their lips met in a kiss
that brought the whole conversation to a close for quite some
time.