flatline [m.s]

xxiii.

- - -
we'll try again and we'll fail again because that's what progress looks like. progress looks like a bunch of failures.
- - -

"i tried to change," mark sighs as he, derek and richard stand on derek's land, looking at the view. "turn over a new leaf."

"but the leaf isn't turning, you weren't ready to change. and that's okay," richard says, unaware that the reason he'd tried to change was because of his daughter. "adele wanted me to change, to retire. well, i'm still the chief, and our marriage is stronger than ever. she was wrong. i was right. and now we're-"

"doing it like bunnies," mark finishes his sentence with a smirk. "i can't change. i can't change. i can't change."

"be who you are. i am who i am," richard encourages. "a man."

"a man," mark repeats, smugly.

"a man who is who he is," richard continues. "i have the right to be that man."

"i'm not going to say anything. no judging. but the man you are slept with my wife, and the man you are lived on my land for six months when his wife threw him out last year," derek shakes his head at mark and richard before pausing. "i'm gonna miss living on this land."

"it's a beautiful piece of land," mark agrees.

"wanna buy it?" derek asks, turning to face mark.

"you can't sell this land. you have blueprints," mark argues. "this is your living room window. the house that derek built."

"yeah, well, that's over," derek sighs. "i'm thinking about getting a place in town."

"but you love this land," mark reminds him. "this land and ferry boats are who you are."

"a man can change. i'm selling the land," derek says waking away. "and ferry boats. crash."

■ ■ ■

"my god," richard gasps, entering the room of a boy encased in cement, where there are no doctors present. only firefighters stood doing nothing. "why- wh- what is everybody doing standing around here?"

"this is what your guys told us to do," one of the firemen shrugs.

"and where exactly are my guys?" richard asks, before he hears them all shouting in the trauma room next door.

"this is what we have to do," mark insists as richard enters the trauma room where all of the surgeons are talking over each other in front of a whiteboard.

"i am telling you, i am right!" lia argues.

"why is the patient in there and all of you are in here?" richard asks, making all of the surgeons stop arguing and look at him.

"dr. torres is worried about the limbs. dr. bailey is worried about abdominal crush injuries. dr. sloan feels the third-degree burns should take the first look, and, uh, dr. webber feels the heart and lung issues are gonna kill him before, um, we get to any of this," cristina explains. "so in other words... no one can agree when to start."

"no, i know where to start," callie shakes her head. "the cement's contracting, and if i don't get in there, he could lose both of his legs and his right arm."