grey's anatomy fanfiction, mark/addison - the graveyard shift.
The Graveyard Shift
Author's Notes: For openended for ga_fanfic's secret santa exchange. In which nothing of consequence happens. This started out as a 'four scenes from the past and one from the future' kind of thing which was meant to be a loosely linked set of ficlets but then deadlines and writer's block and more Christmas ham than one ever wants to think about again happened, so it'll have to do in a pinch. Sincere apologies for a rather humble gift - no less heartfelt. ♥
"'Twas the night before Christmas and in the ER, Mark Sloan gave a drunk stitches that wouldn't leave a scar," he says, leaning back against the counter beside her and folding his arms.
She looks up, quirks an eyebrow. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"
"About as long as it took me to perfectly mattress stitch Mister Whiskey Vapour's face. What about you? Any festive tales of blood and gore?"
She shakes her head and turns back to the chart, scribbling in a treatment plan for a Mrs Walters' chest pain. "Nothing interesting. The most exciting thing I've done all night is a few uneventful cardiac assessments. I'm waiting on a few troponins to come back, but other than that, everyone is sleeping. Including Weiss, in an empty bed in resus."
"We should tell him off for that," Mark remarks, absently.
"I figure he'll be well-placed to respond to any traumas that come in," she says, pushing her glasses up her nose in a way he's started to find disturbingly endearing instead of sexy-librarian. She taps her pen against the side of her mouth.
"Bit late for it now." He glances at the clock on the wall. "Four AM on Christmas Eve; even the drunks will be home in bed by now."
"It's never too late for a drunk or a junkie Mark." She sighs, frowns at the paperwork and remembers her train of thought. The bottom of the page is graced with her signature in a flourish and she sets down the pen.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Red, but are you disappointed that this night has been uneventful?"
"Not disappointed, exactly." She yawns, blinks, stared at the clock which is, by her estimation, going far too slowly. "But I was promised hell, and dare I say it-"
The meat of his palm is suddenly pressed into her teeth, her lips moving against it in a strange, unwilling kiss.
"No," he tells her. "You daren't. I don't know about you, but come 8am I want to be walking about of here, not doing the last of the paperwork after some mess staggers through those doors."
She plucks his arm from her mouth and gives him the sugary smile she had which always looks like the scowl it really is. "Charitable."
"But where would we be if I wasn't here to play Scrooge to your Tiny Tim?" He's twinkling at her, all mischief, and she's having none of it. "Come on," he says to the disapproval written on her countenance which grows even more severe when he takes her arm at the elbow. He's gentle as he guides her.
There are two paediatric beds in the ER, unofficial, except for their location next to the fenced in play things to occupy waiting children and the giraffe-print privacy curtains. He pulls them aside with the usual purr to reveal an empty bed where she expects to find a child.
"Where's Melissa Morgan?" she asks, hushed, because the beds around them are occupied.
"Paeds admitted her."
"They were adamant that they wouldn't six hours ago."
"I know the resident on tonight." If the lighting wasn't so dim, she'd be more sure that he's actually winking. "I pled your case. It's all in the sell Red." He slides up onto the now-bare plastic mattress and pats the space beside him.
"Should have been enough that she needed to be admitted." She turns and sits next to him. "So what are we doing here?"
"I'm giving you a Christmas present."
"Oh okay, I'll lower my expectations then."
"Cute." He looks, for a moment, like he might stick his tongue out at her. Instead, he jumps up and reaches around the curtain, grabbing at the piles of clean laundry stacked against the wall. He throws a woven hospital blanket at her chest. "Here, sleep for a few hours. You've got a bigger day tomorrow than I have, and nothing's happening here anyway."
She looks sceptical. "Are you sure?"
"Gift horse, Addison, mouth. Yes. I'm about to go bribe the nurses to put out a resus call just to scare the shit out of Weiss anyway, so, sleep. It's your turn."
He's already gone, the giraffe print curtain pulled closed again, so she does.
She dozes for an hour but the brief pandemonium of an elderly lady deteriorating wakes her and there's no sleeping after the adrenaline rush. (Between them they handle it, if not easily then successfully, without having to call their superiors on a night when doctors not on-shift want to be disturbed much less than usual. She thinks of how far they've come in a year and is disbelieving, and a little proud.)
He brings her a coffee with a red ribbon tied around the rim as the morning shift straggles in. Raising the Styrofoam mug in a toast, he says, "Merry Christmas Red."
She stares, but takes the coffee, lets her cup bump against his with a squeak of friction. "Careful, you're losing Grinch cred.
The roll of his eyes is all she can see of his expression, the rest is hidden behind a sip of coffee.
"So," he ribs, "Three hours until the Shepherd Christmas extravaganza. Are you sure you're ready?"
"Can't be worse than last year," she teases. "You're not going to be there."
"Nope. It's a daylong nap in the solitude of my apartment for me. You're jealous aren't you?"
"Faintly. And a little bit sad for you. You could still come to dinner."
"Alas, that honour is reserved for my own family." He looks none-to-thrilled at the prospect. "But don't worry, we'll all be back here come Monday and we can share horror stories."
"I'll tell everyone you miss them at Derek's."
He smiles and lets the disposable cup sink into the trash. "You know me too well."
"No," she disagrees pleasantly, letting her cup join his and linking their arms. "Just well enough."
They cross the threshold like that, well past dawn and into Christmas morning proper. The halt of her steps forces him to linger like she does, the familiar facade of the hospital brilliant in the sunlight. He squints. Twelve hours of darkness make the light unnatural.
"Another year over," she says, thoughtfully, as she takes it all in.
"And a new one just begun?" he teases.
She lets her shoulder nudge into his. "Something like that."
"Makes you wonder doesn't it?" He indulges her a little. "Last Christmas-"
"- I gave you my heart?"
"Very funny."
It might be true, in a way.
"No, I was going to say, last Christmas I had the night shift Christmas Day and I had no idea what I was doing."
"So not much has changed then," she says with her quick and acid tongue.
He drops her arm and shakes his head, without a retort that he's want to share and walks to the curb, hails her a cab while she stands with her hands in her pockets, doing a strange dance to ward off the chill.
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night," she murmurs. "It was a good night, wasn't it? All things considered."
What she means is there are no fresh tragedies, nothing to drag them back to the dark wee hours when they break bread around decorated tables with celebrating family and friends. For a moment he shares her gratitude for that.
"Glad it was you Red." He pulls open the door and folds his arms over the top, keeping it between them like a shield.
She smiles. "Bet you say that to all the girls."
He joins in the joke and smiles. They exchange goodbyes and he closes the door behind her and waves and mutters it to the empty street. "No, only you."
Author's Notes: For openended for ga_fanfic's secret santa exchange. In which nothing of consequence happens. This started out as a 'four scenes from the past and one from the future' kind of thing which was meant to be a loosely linked set of ficlets but then deadlines and writer's block and more Christmas ham than one ever wants to think about again happened, so it'll have to do in a pinch. Sincere apologies for a rather humble gift - no less heartfelt. ♥
"'Twas the night before Christmas and in the ER, Mark Sloan gave a drunk stitches that wouldn't leave a scar," he says, leaning back against the counter beside her and folding his arms.
She looks up, quirks an eyebrow. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"
"About as long as it took me to perfectly mattress stitch Mister Whiskey Vapour's face. What about you? Any festive tales of blood and gore?"
She shakes her head and turns back to the chart, scribbling in a treatment plan for a Mrs Walters' chest pain. "Nothing interesting. The most exciting thing I've done all night is a few uneventful cardiac assessments. I'm waiting on a few troponins to come back, but other than that, everyone is sleeping. Including Weiss, in an empty bed in resus."
"We should tell him off for that," Mark remarks, absently.
"I figure he'll be well-placed to respond to any traumas that come in," she says, pushing her glasses up her nose in a way he's started to find disturbingly endearing instead of sexy-librarian. She taps her pen against the side of her mouth.
"Bit late for it now." He glances at the clock on the wall. "Four AM on Christmas Eve; even the drunks will be home in bed by now."
"It's never too late for a drunk or a junkie Mark." She sighs, frowns at the paperwork and remembers her train of thought. The bottom of the page is graced with her signature in a flourish and she sets down the pen.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Red, but are you disappointed that this night has been uneventful?"
"Not disappointed, exactly." She yawns, blinks, stared at the clock which is, by her estimation, going far too slowly. "But I was promised hell, and dare I say it-"
The meat of his palm is suddenly pressed into her teeth, her lips moving against it in a strange, unwilling kiss.
"No," he tells her. "You daren't. I don't know about you, but come 8am I want to be walking about of here, not doing the last of the paperwork after some mess staggers through those doors."
She plucks his arm from her mouth and gives him the sugary smile she had which always looks like the scowl it really is. "Charitable."
"But where would we be if I wasn't here to play Scrooge to your Tiny Tim?" He's twinkling at her, all mischief, and she's having none of it. "Come on," he says to the disapproval written on her countenance which grows even more severe when he takes her arm at the elbow. He's gentle as he guides her.
There are two paediatric beds in the ER, unofficial, except for their location next to the fenced in play things to occupy waiting children and the giraffe-print privacy curtains. He pulls them aside with the usual purr to reveal an empty bed where she expects to find a child.
"Where's Melissa Morgan?" she asks, hushed, because the beds around them are occupied.
"Paeds admitted her."
"They were adamant that they wouldn't six hours ago."
"I know the resident on tonight." If the lighting wasn't so dim, she'd be more sure that he's actually winking. "I pled your case. It's all in the sell Red." He slides up onto the now-bare plastic mattress and pats the space beside him.
"Should have been enough that she needed to be admitted." She turns and sits next to him. "So what are we doing here?"
"I'm giving you a Christmas present."
"Oh okay, I'll lower my expectations then."
"Cute." He looks, for a moment, like he might stick his tongue out at her. Instead, he jumps up and reaches around the curtain, grabbing at the piles of clean laundry stacked against the wall. He throws a woven hospital blanket at her chest. "Here, sleep for a few hours. You've got a bigger day tomorrow than I have, and nothing's happening here anyway."
She looks sceptical. "Are you sure?"
"Gift horse, Addison, mouth. Yes. I'm about to go bribe the nurses to put out a resus call just to scare the shit out of Weiss anyway, so, sleep. It's your turn."
He's already gone, the giraffe print curtain pulled closed again, so she does.
She dozes for an hour but the brief pandemonium of an elderly lady deteriorating wakes her and there's no sleeping after the adrenaline rush. (Between them they handle it, if not easily then successfully, without having to call their superiors on a night when doctors not on-shift want to be disturbed much less than usual. She thinks of how far they've come in a year and is disbelieving, and a little proud.)
He brings her a coffee with a red ribbon tied around the rim as the morning shift straggles in. Raising the Styrofoam mug in a toast, he says, "Merry Christmas Red."
She stares, but takes the coffee, lets her cup bump against his with a squeak of friction. "Careful, you're losing Grinch cred.
The roll of his eyes is all she can see of his expression, the rest is hidden behind a sip of coffee.
"So," he ribs, "Three hours until the Shepherd Christmas extravaganza. Are you sure you're ready?"
"Can't be worse than last year," she teases. "You're not going to be there."
"Nope. It's a daylong nap in the solitude of my apartment for me. You're jealous aren't you?"
"Faintly. And a little bit sad for you. You could still come to dinner."
"Alas, that honour is reserved for my own family." He looks none-to-thrilled at the prospect. "But don't worry, we'll all be back here come Monday and we can share horror stories."
"I'll tell everyone you miss them at Derek's."
He smiles and lets the disposable cup sink into the trash. "You know me too well."
"No," she disagrees pleasantly, letting her cup join his and linking their arms. "Just well enough."
They cross the threshold like that, well past dawn and into Christmas morning proper. The halt of her steps forces him to linger like she does, the familiar facade of the hospital brilliant in the sunlight. He squints. Twelve hours of darkness make the light unnatural.
"Another year over," she says, thoughtfully, as she takes it all in.
"And a new one just begun?" he teases.
She lets her shoulder nudge into his. "Something like that."
"Makes you wonder doesn't it?" He indulges her a little. "Last Christmas-"
"- I gave you my heart?"
"Very funny."
It might be true, in a way.
"No, I was going to say, last Christmas I had the night shift Christmas Day and I had no idea what I was doing."
"So not much has changed then," she says with her quick and acid tongue.
He drops her arm and shakes his head, without a retort that he's want to share and walks to the curb, hails her a cab while she stands with her hands in her pockets, doing a strange dance to ward off the chill.
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night," she murmurs. "It was a good night, wasn't it? All things considered."
What she means is there are no fresh tragedies, nothing to drag them back to the dark wee hours when they break bread around decorated tables with celebrating family and friends. For a moment he shares her gratitude for that.
"Glad it was you Red." He pulls open the door and folds his arms over the top, keeping it between them like a shield.
She smiles. "Bet you say that to all the girls."
He joins in the joke and smiles. They exchange goodbyes and he closes the door behind her and waves and mutters it to the empty street. "No, only you."