41. The Box

Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way.

-Miranda Bailey

When Emily had left Boston, she had never looked back. She thought of them often, sure, but she never made a single move to contact them. There was no telling how they were and she didn't ever bother to ask because it only brought up memories. Plagued memories that hurt too much now.

But Dr. Wyatt was helping, she'd give her that. It had been another week of therapy and they had just discussed Boston after a lot of pushing. What her relationship with the attendings were, how good she was, how her brother was doing. The edge didn't dull but talking was easier. Living was easier. So she got careless. She left the psychiatrist's office and right into Alex.

"Dude, you're seeing a shrink?" he quipped first but then realized that she had a good session. She's broken, he realized quietly. There were only so many women in his life that cared about him. He wasn't going to let his smart mouth drive away one of them. "And it works."

"Yeah, it does I guess," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck as he sighed. "We haven't had a drink in a while." It was a quiet proposal, one made out of pure nostalgia. To the pre-Boston days. Back when their biggest problem was if being a good doctor and stupid romance. Back when they were much younger - when they weren't married and full of self hatred.

"We haven't," he agreed and they were off to drinks with Joe's. Then they sat at the bar, Joe serving them their regulars. Her brandy ran down her throat smoothly and she relished the feel of it. The last drink she had was… was so long ago. She had been pregnant so she couldn't drink. "You okay?"

The brunette realized he asked her something before but didn't hear it as she nursed her drink. Taking another sip, she set it down and cradled the glass. She could just barely see her reflection in the amber liquid. "No," she said truthfully and tilted her head to look at her friend. He took a swig of his beer and asked for another, a storm brewing on his face. "I take it Izzie didn't call back."

"Yeah," he snorted, finishing his first beer and beginning the second. "She's a crappy wife," Emily didn't say anything against or for the point, only finished her brandy and slamming the glass on the bar.

"You never talked about what happened," Alex suddenly said bluntly. He was holding his liquor well - two beers wasn't even that much - when he asked and she glanced at him.

"For good reason."

"You aren't the same person I remember."

"I think so, too."

"So this Tom guy." She was surprised he remembered his name. Then again, he probably heard the gossip of the hospital. "You really liked him?"

"Yeah," she whispered, thanking Joe quietly when he poured her another drink. "And he's gone."

"Like Izzie," he pointed out and she agreed. Not exactly, but the marks are the same.

"Two birds of a feather,"

"Life's crap, but that's nothing new."

"Cheers to that." Their glasses clinked and alcohol filled empty stomachs and shattered hearts.

.

Ella walked up to the reception, asking the nurse as politely as possible, "I'm looking for Dr. Moore. Is she on call right now?" Adjusting her grip on the box, she waited patiently.

"Um…" the nurse seemed nervous at the mention of the brunette doctor. She searched up the name on the computer, waiting for the system to load as said doctor came around the corner. She was with Mark as he told her about a surgery he had performed earlier on a trauma patient.

"That's really cool," she told him truthfully and it was but it lacked the enthusiasm she normally harbored for such tales. He sighed, kissing her temple and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Holding onto the hand that rested on her shoulder, she apologized.

"It's okay," he lied although it wasn't. They both knew it wasn't. The life seemed to be suck out of her and her eyes didn't glimmer with life like they once did. He felt guilty for it. He was the one who pushed her to Boston. He told her that it'd be okay. She didn't even want to go. So he was being patient.

"No, it's not," she sighed. Her sleep was being robbed by nightmares and she rubbed at the bags under her eyes. At this point, she'd wish somebody would just sedate her. "But thanks for trying." They continued for a few more paces before his pager blared.

"Damn, I'll see you later, okay?" He kissed her forehead and she nodded. "I love you," Brushing a short curl behind her ear, he just took in her face as she attempted a smile.

"I know." A conflicted look passed his face and her hand rose to press against her abdomen. He didn't see it as he rushed away, disappearing around the corner they came. I can't tell him, she thought with fear, it'd break him. He's trying so hard for me.

"Emily," a voice called for her and she looked to the source. She recognized the straight flaxen hair and brown eyes before approaching the blonde. "Hey." There was a box in Ella's arms. A guitar's strings stuck out.

"Hi, Ella," she replied awkwardly and gestured to the waiting room where they could talk. "Do you want to, uh, sit down?"

"Uhm, no. I'm just here to - to drop this off." The widow's voice was thick with tears as she gazed down at the contents. "There's stuff for you but I couldn't - I'm sorry. Here, just take it." The woman was trying hard to be civil. Staring at her former friend wasn't easy.

"It's been hard," she said, taking the box and setting it by her feet. "I've been to therapy, actually. It helps," she offered as an olive branch and Ella stepped back, nodding. She wiped at her tears and looked at the woman. She appeared the same except her hair was shorter. But her eyes were void of any life. Ella took in a quivering breath.

"I know. I - your brother hired one for me. He's been very kind. It's been difficult for all of us, I think."

"Yeah." Emily looked down at the box, recognizing some of Tom's stuff in there. The guitar was his, goddamn it. "So this is his stuff?"

"We went through it a few days back - the family and me. It was hard. There were a bunch of letters, a whole lot of memories-" Ella broke off to stop her voice from cracking. "But there was something for you. I know you'd want to read it."

"Thank you," she whispered, picking up the box again.

"It helped me. It gave me some closure, I guess. I - I still love him, but he's gone. I'm at peace with that. And I'm trying to forgive you too."

"Thanks," she muttered and Ella sent her a curious glance.

"Did you tell Mark about the baby?" she inquired. Emily's panicked face silenced her and the brunette flushed.

"I didn't tell anyone. Not even my therapist."

"You should." The blonde's hand reached out before the blonde realized what she was doing and it dropped back to her side.

"You think I don't know that?" Emily snapped and Ella nodded with a flinch. Realizing what she did and having horrible flashbacks to their last conversation, she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm not ready to talk about the building collapse yet."

"But, you should," Ella pushed and Emily's arms shook. From anger or from holding that box for so long, she didn't know. "It'll help and maybe Tom'll finally be put to rest."

"Maybe," she said although she didn't exactly agree. Her jaw set stiff, she adjusted her grip on her box. "Well, I've got to go. Work, y'know. Thanks for stopping by." She gave a tight smile and whipped around, walking to the resident's lounge and stalking to her cubby. Ripping out her bag, she let it drop to the ground before shoving the box into her cubby. Stuffing her bag over it, she sat on the bench and tried to breathed out her anger.

It didn't exactly work. Feeling her pager vibrate, she wiped at the angry tears away and stood, looking at it. Bailey was paging her. Of course, she was on her former resident's service today. Leaving the room, she felt her focus shake and ended up losing on the chance to scrub in on a laparotomy.

"Your focus is off, Moore," she snapped as they wheeled him in. She nodded, refusing to look at the shorter woman. "Hey—" Her tone turned soft— "if you need to take a break-"

"I don't," she cut in, "I'm fine, I just need a moment. I-"

"You're not scrubbing in, not today. Go handle my pre-ops." She was about to argue when Dr. Bailey held up a hand, "No - no. No arguing."

"Whatever," she growled, storming out of the scrub room and up to the general wing where she gathered the charts and fixed a strained smile on her face.

.

The next two weeks passed with little change. The box in her cubby never shifted, gathering dust as she continued to go to Dr. Wyatt. She didn't tell her therapist that she had received the box from her best friend's wife but her friends knew, urged her to tell her.

"Dude, tell your shrink. You're only going to get worse," said Alex as they left for rounds.

"Whatever." She waved it off. It worked for a whole fortnight until one day, Dr. Wyatt set down her notebook in the middle of a session and leveled her with a stare.

"You're hiding something. Don't lie." her doctor held up a hand and Emily closed her mouth. "You are." She didn't deny it as Dr. Wyatt pressed forward, "What is it? You've been off for a few weeks now." Emily glanced up at her doctor in surprise. She didn't think she was that obvious. Unless somebody tipped her doctor off.

"Who told you? Alex? Meredith?"

"No one. Now, tell me what's troubling you." Feeling cornered, she decided to confront her friends later and sighed.

"Ella came a few weeks back. She handed me some of Tom's old stuff. Said it would give me closure but…"

"But I'm assuming you haven't touched it yet."

"No." Dr. Wyatt leaned back, nodding. "I know I should. But I'm scared,"

"Overcome your fear. Do it and don't look back. I know your friends are there to help you." She must've seen the look on the short-haired woman's face because the psychiatrist's mouth twitched into a smile. "Go home. Take the day off. Read what he left you. That's your homework and what I'm prescribing you."

"I'll try,"

"Don't try. Just do it," Dr. Wyatt urged and Emily stood, walking to the door. Her hand rested on the knob and she looked at the fish tank, its bright colors contrasting against her dark world. In a last attempt to make her patient at least somewhat brighter, the woman stood to gather her things. "It was Alex, by the way." And then, somehow, some way, a small smile flitted across Emily's face before she disappeared.

.

To whomever it may concern,

I swear to God this is going to be like my will kind of. In this box is what I want the people I love to see after I pass. It's basically full of stuff that I want them to use to give some comfort and peace in the wake of my death or something. But I seriously doubt I'm going anywhere any time soon.

Anyway, I've decided that I'll just stack stuff that means a lot to me in here. This includes my journal, my guitar and a few other knick knacks you guys'll appreciate.

So… yeah. I've also written letters to the people I care about and among other things. I want you to read my writing while it's still legible, as loose as that term is. Each envelope has a name and they're all sincere and from the heart. Know that I'll never stop loving any one of you, even when we're worlds apart.

With all the love in the world,

Tom

Emily didn't realize she was crying until they blotted the surface of the paper. The ink smeared, but it had already in so many places when Ella had held it before. She cuddled up on the couch, her eyes raking over his signature over and over again. Placing it tenderly on the spot beside her, she moved the blanket she had wrapped tightly around her to dig into the box. The first thing to reach her fingers was a smooth something. Digging it out, she realized it was a notebook. Opening it up, she nearly broke down at the smudges on some of the letters. The pen ink dragged off to the right where he pressed the knuckle of his left pinkie over accidentally.

Flipping to the first entry, she pulled her knees up to her chest and snuggled deeper into the pillow. Sniffing loudly, although it didn't matter as she was alone, she tried to calm herself as she began to read.

This is my first entry because there's nothing to do in between doing charts and getting no surgeries. Being an intern has been a crazy busy job but it's real. These are real patients that I'm treating. Man, this is insane and I know I'm rambling but I don't really know anyone else well enough to do it without annoying them other than Ella. But she's sleeping somewhere in the hospital.

Guess you'll be my sole companion for now, huh, journal? Ugh, I'm crazy. Write in you soon, I hope. Maybe I'd have scrubbed in on a surgery by then. Thomas Jones, an intern, signing out.

That's how Mark found her. When he unlocked the door, he found his girlfriend asleep with the book clutched in her hands and a blanket around her body. She didn't appear to be having a nightmare, in fact, she was the most peaceful he'd ever seen her. Smiling, he picked her up easily and transported her to their bed. Detaching the book from her grasp, he settled it on the bedside table and kissed her cheek before going to the living room to clean up the box she had brought home.

Tom. He had read it without meaning to. The sharpie on the side of the box was faded but he did anyway. This is his stuff, he concluded sadly. His gaze raked over the guitar she had propped in the corner, an envelope, a CD and a few other knick knacks filling up the cardboard box. Not wanting to pry despite his urges, he picked it up and put it down beside the guitar before going to the bathroom to shower.

.

The next day, Emily woke up fully rested for once. Mark was beside her, sleeping peacefully. She took a moment to take in his serene expression, the slight part of his lips and the way he slept on his pillow. He was on his stomach, arms stuffed underneath the pillow his head rested on. Smiling, she covered his back with the blanket and she glanced at the analog clock. It displayed a bright three. Her shift started in two hours but she decided to get up anyways. She pushed the covers off of her and goosebumps rose from her skin immediately. Feeling shivers crawl up her spine, she stretched and pulled at her jumper that had ridden up her stomach. Looking at her bedside table, she spotted the familiar black notebook and everything came flooding back. She had just gotten to the part right before she came. Noah was becoming a close teacher… Ella and him were progressing and he was finally finding his place in peds.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes and suddenly felt tired again like she hadn't slept in a million years. She forced herself to get up and into the bathroom to prepare for the day.

.

God, she couldn't take any more death. The rumor couldn't be true. He was so kind, so patient with all of them and now he had a spinal tumor. Clutching the notebook, she booked it to M.R.I. and found everyone gathered in there. Standing beside Lexie, she glanced into the machine. There was Isaac, lying still as a dead man. Which he probably was and will be in months, weeks even.

"Damn, I thought it was a rumor. Let me see the scans," she ordered and Lexie passed her the waxy black sheets. "Crap, five levels of the spine," she murmured as the new scans popped up.

They crowded around the computers. Owen slid in beside her to look as Arizona said something about how hard it was going to be and Mark said something about why he went into plastics. Callie and Owen both exclaimed at the difficulty of the tumor before the Chief interrupted them and ordered them to go to their surgeries. Sighing, they departed, worry and tension hanging over the surgeons as Emily walked after Arizona.

"I'm on your service today," she informed the blonde who chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Is there anything you want me to do because I want to do?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," the blonde turned towards her resident for the day with a hopeful smile. "Come on, I think this'll help you too." Together, they made their way up to the peds wing where Arizona led her to the second room. A child was lying on the bed but raised his head when the doctors came in. "Hey, Jason! How're you doing today?"

The boy gave a thumbs up and smiled. His dark skin managed to hide the dark circles around his eyes but Emily still saw them as she opened up the chart. "Jason Hollings, thirteen, on the list for a lung transplant. Dang, kid, what'd you do? Smoke?" she joked and he tried not to laugh but his smile grew.

"Jason here wants to be a musician. Isn't that right?" Jason gave another thumbs up and Arizona handed him a notepad and a pen. "Well, Dr. Moore is going to be helping you with that, okay? She's going to be your bandmate."

"Yeah, wouldn't that be fun?" Emily agreed, slipping Tom's notebook into her pocket. "Let me just talk to Dr. Robbins first real quick, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she followed the blonde outside. "Why?"

"He can entertain himself. He has a musical app on his computer that he uses from time to time. Just listen when he wants to show you stuff. Do whatever you need to do, you look like you need the time."

"Thank you, Arizona," Emily whispered, truly grateful. The blonde hugged her before letting the brunette slip back into the room. Making sure her patient could reach his laptop comfortably, she settled in a chair in the corner. "Just tap twice on the snare if you want my attention, okay?" He tapped on the snare and she chuckled. "Okay." Crossing her leg over the other, she opened the book to the page where she last left off.

So… today I met this lady. Except she wasn't really just a lady. She was Dr. Moore's sister which makes her pretty awesome. She seems cool and really talented and we're already becoming fast friends. At first, I wanted to just ditch her because Dr. Moore had a bowel resection but out of good manners, I stuck it out.

I actually got to hang out the whole day with her. I never knew there was going to be someone I clicked with more than her but she has the same humor as me and we love the same things. I admit, I still love Drake and Josh. I know, embarrassing, but you'd love her, journal. I literally did the truther/liar thing with her and we ended up looking weird in front of all the attendings. Dr. Olivier didn't seem amused but whatever. You'd like her, journal. If only you were a person too… and on she read and read, half-listening as Jason made beats on the drum set while accompanying it with some guitar chords.

.

She spent the whole day with Jason and Arizona let her spend the next day with him before and after her session with Dr. Wyatt. His mom had dropped by with food before leaving with a goodbye kiss. It wasn't like she didn't care about her son, it was just that she was a busy, working parent. Then, his dad came and asked how his day went. They had a back and forth conversation as Jason wrote down his replies on sheets and sheets of paper.

"Hey, Jason," she said as he raised his eyes from the tablet. He was currently recreating In My Veins with his own mix after straying across it on YouTube. "I'm just gonna be gone for an hour or so. I have to go do something." He looked thoughtful, writing down his reply.

Okay. I'm almost done this tune but I need a singer. Rolling her eyes, she ignored his wink. Ever since Arizona had dropped the hint that Emily knew how to sing, Jason had been egging her on. It was a fun teasing really, but one that ached because singing linked to Tom. In fact, the entry she was on was one that brought painful memories. So when she sat on Dr. Wyatt's couch, she just opened the journal and read it aloud.

"He taught you a lot of things, it seems," Dr. Wyatt commented softly and Emily nodded. "Do you still play?"

"No. Not since his death," she informed. "The first song he taught me is actually the one Jason is remaking right now. Jason, uh, he's this kid in the peds ward. Waiting for a lung transplant that should be any day now."

"Have you tried?" the woman pried and Emily shook her head, "Do something the both of you loved to keep alive his memory. The journals - they're a good step towards it."

"Okay," she murmured unwillingly. Her heart ached as she gazed back down at his loopy scrawl.

"You're healing now, Emily. I know it hurts." She could still hear his voice in her head as she read his entries, could even imagine his hand whispering over the sheets of paper. "I know you want to quit. But don't. Finish his story. Finish this chapter of your story and then you can move on."

.

She was paged to the skills lab. Of course, she had to be that person who was late. Jackson sent her a glance as if to ask where were you but she shook her head and took a seat beside him.

"Glad you finally joined us, Dr. Moore." Derek greeted with a strained smile. "As I was saying. Microsurgery is about precision. The microscope changes your perspective radically. The hand-eye coordination required can be learned, but right now, I need naturals."

"Where were you?" Jackson hissed under his breath and she sent him a look to shut up as Derek proceeded to explain what to do. Taking a bill, he placed it under the styrofoam cup.

"Each one of you will get the chance to guide this pen through the hole in the cup." Taking a red pen, he steadied it and looked through the microscope as they watched. "The person who makes a mark closest to the president's nose—" He lowered the utensil and the residents watched as he made a perfect red dot on the nose— "and doesn't hit the side of the cup gets to scrub in. Who wants to go first?" Everyone raised their hand except her. Steve went up first and Cristina took his chair. He readied the cup over the money and picked up the red pen, lowering it carefully but completely missing the cup.

Cristina yawned and clapped sarcastically as he asked for a do over. Derek denied the request as she looked bored, "Way to go, Two."

"Why do I have to be here? I don't even want to scrub in," she muttered under her breath as Reed went up. Despite her best efforts, the brunette hit the side of the cup and another resident went up. Jackson nudged her lightly with his shoulder.

"Cheer up,"

"Oh, no. It's not like I have raging PTSD," she said dryly as Derek continued to encourage the residents to come up. But slowly, the neurosurgeon was losing patience. Many tried, none succeeded as Cristina continued her disdainful remarks.

"How did you get into this program?" she asked in disbelief as another went up. He just dropped the pen. Emily hid her face in her hands; they were all doing it wrong. Jackson chuckled as Cristina yawned and stretched. Jackson went up next, his face a mask of determination. Grabbing the bill, he placed it centre under the cup as she could see in the camera. At least he's standing correctly, she mused. He'll probably be one of the best. The closest.

And she was right. He nearly got him right on the nose as Cristina went up, confidence oozing from her very being. When Jackson returned to her seat, she nudged him. "Not too shabby," she mumbled as Cristina prepared the money. "She's standing way too close," Emily murmured and Jackson just watched as she hit the side of the cup.

"Okay. Dr. Moore, come on up."

"Dr. Shepherd, do I have to?"

"Yes."

"It's not like I even want to operate-"

"You are going to try." Still, Emily didn't move. "Dr. Moore, you are going to try." The doors swung open and Derek turned to smile at Mark, looking slightly disgruntled. "And if I can't convince you, he will."

Letting her foot drop from its crossed position with a loud slap, she sighed. "You had to bring Mark."

"I know he's good at convincing you to do things when other people can't." Getting up, she took the money reluctantly. Walking up to Mark, she glared at him and he smiled despite it. It was the most 'Emily' she had looked since her return and he was all for it. Grasping her arms, he pecked her lips.

"I'm throwing that YSL in the trash when we get home," she said plainly and he smirked, kissing the space between her eyebrows.

"You'll do great."

"I know." Standing behind the microscope, she adjusted the eyeline before placing a dollar underneath the cup. She finally lifted the red pen. Sighing, she looked into the microscope for a few moments, adjusting the bill and cup before looking at Derek and Mark.

"Can I fail on purpose?"

"Unfortunately no." The neurosurgeon smiled and she swallowed, pinching the pen delicately and lowering it right onto the nose. Her hand didn't shake as she dotted the president basically on the nose. It was just a few millimetres off. Once removed, she heard the residents murmur appraisingly. Taking the cup away, she gave it back to Derek who smiled.

"We have our winner." Just then, her pager beeped and she glanced at her waist. Clicking it, she frowned.

"With all due respect, Dr. Avery can scrub in. I have a lung transplant to get to." Grabbing her lab coat, she walked out of the lab.

"Em, wait-" Pausing, she turned to see Mark come after her. He pressed a bruising kiss to her mouth and her eyes closed. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered before tearing herself away and running to Jason's room.

.

When Arizona came in, they began the surgery immediately. It was fast and quick and simple, in and out with no complications and when the nurse moved Jason back to his room, she decided to have a peek in Derek's O.R. Walking in with a scrub mask, she saw Mark at the monitor.

"Dr. Moore, come to see what you've missed?" Derek asked and she made a face at him behind her mask.

"Very funny, Dr. Shepherd. I'm just here to see how it's going," she said, standing beside Mark. Crossing her arms, she tilted her head as Mark recorded the tracings.

"I've cleared a path at T-5. And if I continue along this plane, I-"

The monitors started beeping and Mark stared at the monitor, the wheels clacking against the floor. "M.E.P. tracing's losing amplitude. What just happened?" Emily tore her eyes away from the monitor to watch the screens.

"A vessel burst. It might have been connected to the cord."

"But if there's not enough blood reaching the cord-"

"I could've just paralyzed our patient, yes. Suction, please," Derek barked. The blood failed to recede from the field. "Suction. Easy. Careful. More suction."

"There's too much blood."

"We're losing him."

"I should've just cut the cord. This is too risky."

"Wait. It's back." Emily's eyes returned to the monitor and she felt herself release a sigh she didn't know she was holding. "Amplitude's up." The feeling was obviously widespread as Derek and Jackson both exhaled heavily. Derek turned to verify Mark's words before his eyes fixed through the lenses again.

"So the cord didn't stroke out? You didn't paralyze him?"

"The vessel was connected to the, uh, tumor. We're okay." This time, Lexie sighed as Emily set a hand on Mark's shoulder, stepping close enough so that his body could lean against hers slightly.

"Nice work, Derek."

"Thanks." Turning around, the brunette frowned at the neurosurgeon as he took a step back. Turning around, he closed his eyes.

"Derek?"

"Take off my mask." His voice wavered and Emily reached for his face.

"Dr. Shepherd? What?" Lexie's eyes widened as he spun around, an unhealthy flushness to his face. Sweat dotted at his forehead as his hands began to shake.

"Take off my mask!" Mark spun around just as Emily reached forward and tugged the strings off his head. Immediately, an acidic, curdled milk-like scent filled the air and Emily stepped away before the vomit could hit her shoes.

"Someone get a towel," Mark ordered to the room as Emily ripped the mask off Derek's neck, throwing it away. Lexie came around, patting his back. "Here, sit." Mark surrendered his chair for his best friend and passed him a towel.

"And we need some water. And - and straws," Lexie added.

"Right away, doctor." A nurse exited the O.R. as Emily grabbed Derek a new mask. Derek sighed, groaning as he spat out a wad of vomit-saliva. The vomit was covered with a large folded towel as Derek wiped away the vomit around his mouth. The nurse returned with a bottle of water and a cup of straws, placing it on the metal tray near Lexie.

"Get in there. Take a breath and get back in there. You can do this." Derek sniffed, wiping at his nose and Emily glared at the latex gloves.

"Take off your gloves, you need a new set," she reminded quietly as Lexie took the bottle of water and offered it to the neurosurgeon. Derek raised his hands limply and Emily tore them off, disposing of them.

"You really should drink something."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're dehydrated and you're stressed. You really should drink something." Derek placed a hand on his knee, looking up at the younger Grey as Emily shared a look with Mark.

"I said I'm fine."

"Drink the water." Derek stared at the bottle for a moment before Lexie added more forcefully, "I said drink it." At that, Derek looked up resignedly and took the bottle, sipping like a petulant child. When almost all of the bottle was gone, Derek sighed and gave the bottle to Lexie.

"Thank you, Dr. Grey." Standing up, the neurosurgeon rolled back his shoulders. Emily gave him the mask and he tied it around his neck quickly before looking around. "I need a new pair of gloves, please." Derek slipped his hands into a new pair that snapped to his wrists. "Dr. Moore, don't you have any patients?"

"I had one patient and he's recovering from a lung transplant. I don't have any other patients." Derek hummed as he began his surgery again.

.

Twenty-six hours into surgery later, Emily walked out of the O.R. with Mark, thoroughly exhausted. They strolled around the hospital, stretching their legs. He had an arm around her shoulders and the two surgeons were exhausted. Probably not as bad as Derek, probably, but bone-tired.

"You okay?" he asked and she looked up at him as they passed the neuro I.C.U. Inside, they saw Isaac and Derek speaking. Emily looked to them, then to Mark.

"I'm going to make one last round on Jason. Wanna come?" she returned with a smile and he nodded, taking her hand. They walked to the elevator and she pressed the button. "And yeah, I'm okay."

"You sure?" he whispered as the doors opened. Walking to his room, Emily saw Jason with his mom and dad, talking raspily as his dad laughed at something he said. Taking the chart from the nurse's station, Emily's hand cupped the back of Mark's neck as she pulled him down for a kiss.

"I'm sure." And for once, she actually felt okay. She felt…

Okay.

A/N: Edited - October 20, 2018

Next: Journal entries, a long letter, and a confession.