Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟴𝟭 the seven stages of grief

𝙇𝙓𝙓𝙓𝙄.
THE SEVEN STAGES OF GRIEF

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I – SHOCK AND DENIAL

Honestly, Beth should have noticed the red flags.

When she stepped out of her apartment, she was met with the worst weather that had hit Seattle in weeks. 

The clouds broiled above her, a heated skew of dark colours that made the corners of her mouth downturn slightly as she drew up the collar of her coat. 

A harsh wind had picked up overnight, jostling the same streets Charlie had fawned over while drunk just the evening before. 

She could feel the rain before she saw it, the scent of petrichor heavy and the feeling of rain against her outstretched hand light.

Absently, Beth stared at the water as it speckled her pale fingers. 

She'd extended her hand warily as if to test the waters of how her day was going to proceed. It appeared so white and almost skeletal in the overcast light, the day dim despite the fact that it was barely 8 AM. 

A shiver ran down her spine as raindrops wetted her nailbeds and the stone on her finger. She stared at the diamond for a while, momentarily spooked by how the clear gem reflected the sky overhead.

It seemed to carry a storm within it, swirling clouds refracted across its ruthless cut.

It almost shocked her, in the most bizarre sense. 

It was Seattle, it was one of the rainiest cities in one of the rainiest states. She'd become accustomed to the sudden downpours to the point where she'd taken to having umbrellas on her person at all times. But even so, when she looked up at the sky, she couldn't help but wince very slightly. 

This was it, right? This was the little girl fairy tale, the sort of thing that kids were supposed to romanticise since they were small. This was the day that was supposed to be all dreamy and wonderful and the happiest day of your life—

The rain didn't feel very happy to her.

Rain didn't quite fit her perception of her relationship either. 

She'd met Charlie in the heat of Southern France and they'd spent months in heated dustbowls across assorted countries. Sure, they'd had Boston, but they'd had blistering sun strained skies and the cherry peeling burns on the tops of his shoulders too. 

It didn't feel right for it to rain. It didn't feel right at all.

"Isn't it supposed to be bad luck or something?"

Eli greeted her outside of the hospital, as always, with a cup of coffee. 

He was stood underneath the awning above the staff entrance, grimacing slightly as he inclined his chin up towards the weather. 

He'd watched her quicken her pace as the rain got heavier and duck into the dry, hair damp and smile strained. His question made her roll her eyes, accepting the usual morning caffeine offering with nothing but a light scoff.

"I'm pretty sure there's something about rain on a wedding day," The nurse teased, and Beth just did her best to ignore him. 

He was already dressed in his scrubs, appearing far perkier than Beth had expected. Like Archer and Charlie, Eli hadn't held back with the drinking last night; she'd half been expecting to find him grimacing through a pair of sunglasses.