The Hardest Goodbye
By: Lori (SixteenOzs)

DISCLAIMER: "ER," the characters and situations depicted within are the property of Warner Brothers Television, Amblin Entertainment, Constant c Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. The story presented here is written solely for entertainment purposes, and the author is making no profit.

Please do not post or redistribute without the disclaimer above, or without the consent of the author.

Feedback is welcome. Please send all questions, comments or criticisms to SixteenOzs02@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: As Mark faces a personal crisis, Elizabeth struggles to prevent him from shutting her out of his life.

BACKGROUND: This story begins after the sixth season episode "Be Patient," and it INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR "BE PATIENT."

PART I, March 2000

Elizabeth smiled slightly as she approached Mark. He was leaning against the railing, staring down at the water below. He was still wearing his scrubs and lab coat from the ER.

"Hey," she said softly, stopping to stand next to him.

"Hi," he said with a faint smile, turning to face her.

"Can you believe we both finally got a few minutes free at the same time?" she laughed.

"I know," he nodded.

She studied him carefully. It was pretty clear there was something wrong. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" she wondered.

He turned back to look at the water for a few moments. Quietly, he said, "My father."

She stared at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

Turning back to her, he said, "He has lung cancer. It's spread to his liver."

"Oh my God," she gasped softly. It took a moment for the shock to wear off. "How long does he have?" she asked.

"Six, maybe eight, weeks," he replied.

"Mark, I am so sorry," she said sincerely as she gently placed a hand on his arm.

He looked at her and swallowed hard before he said, "Yeah, so am I."

"When did you find out?" she asked.

He drew in a deep breath. "The day he came to the hospital to see the pulmonologist. I was in radiology that afternoon, checking on something for one of my patients. I asked Steve if he had Dad's film. I found it and put it up on the box. The tumor was there." Smiling weakly, he added, "That was the night he took us all bowling."

She thought for a moment. "That was over two weeks ago. You've known that long?"

He sighed. He'd known this would be the hardest part about telling her. "Yeah," he nodded. "He, um, he didn't want your mother to know while she was here in Chicago. He didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to put you in a position where you would have to choose between me and your mother."

"But you had to choose between me and your father," she pointed out.

That had definitely been one of the hardest choices he'd ever had to make. Looking at her, he said, "If it's any consolation, I've wanted to tell you since I found out."

She smiled to let him know she understood. "Did you have to break the news to him?"

"I thought I was," he said as he looked out over the water. "That was all I could think about after I found out. How was I going to tell him? We got home from the bowling alley that night, and were getting ready to go to bed. I told him he had lung cancer, and that it had spread to his liver." He stopped and swallowed hard. "He told me that was the same thing the doctors in San Diego said."

It took a moment for that to register. "He found out about this in San Diego?" she questioned in disbelief.

"Do you remember that morning he called the apartment, telling me about the cypress tree he hit?" he asked.

She nodded, "The one you had to pay for?"

"Yeah. He was on his way home from the doctor when he hit the tree," he explained quietly.

"And he never told you?" she asked. "Why?"

He turned back to her. "He said he didn't want to burden me with it," he said, the pain evident in his voice. "And, um, because I'm a doctor. After he found out, he decided he didn't want to treat the cancer, he just wanted to let it 'run its course.' He knew I wouldn't agree, but he'd made up his mind." He stopped, trying to fight back the tears. "He said he just wanted to be with Mom."

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. "Mark, I am so sorry," she whispered.

"I know," he nodded as he held her a little tighter, just needing to know she was there.

She couldn't even begin to imagine how hard this was for him. He was going to lose both parents in less than a year, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. That would be difficult for anyone to deal with, but for a doctor, it would be next to impossible.

"How are you doing?" she asked in a concerned tone as she gently rubbed his back.

"I don't know," he admitted sadly. "I'm not sure if it's that I can't believe it, or if I just don't want to."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"You're here," he said simply as he rested his head on her shoulder.

They continued to hold each other, but after a few minutes, a pager went off. Elizabeth unclipped hers from the waistband of her scrubs and raised it to look at the display. It was blank. "It's not me," she said apologetically.

He stepped back, checked his pager. "It's me," he said with a sigh. "Damn."

"I'll walk back with you," she said with a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks," he nodded as he slipped his arm around the back of her waist and they started to walk back to the hospital.

"What time are you off?" she wondered.

"Midnight," he replied. "Why?"

"You know what you need?" she asked.

He smiled ruefully. "What?"

She grinned. "A milkshake."

He laughed in spite of himself. "Bad day therapy?" he questioned.

"An excellent piece of advice from someone very special," she smiled.

"Okay," he agreed with a weak smile.

"You're going to get through this," she assured him, "and I will be right here for you."

"Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome."

Elizabeth approached the admit desk in the ER, folded her arms and leaned on the counter. "It's twelve-oh-seven. You're off. Let's go."

Mark looked up from the chart in his hand. "I just need to finish up a couple of charts."

"Fine," she said in mock annoyance, then grinned to let him know she understood.

He smiled as he turned back to the chart and quickly finished his notations. About ten minutes later, he announced, "Done."

"Need to get your stuff?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he nodded, "and I'm going to give Dad a call."

She glanced at her watch. "Don't you think he's probably asleep by now?"

He paused. "I'll feel better if I call."

She smiled. "Okay."

She sat on the sofa as she watched him walk over to his locker, take off his scrub top and pull a jacket on over his tee shirt. He picked up his bag from the bottom of the locker, closed the door and sat the bag on the table before walking over to the desk to pick up the phone.

"Hey, Dad. It's me. ... Did I wake you? ... I, um, I wanted to let you know that I just got off, but Elizabeth and I are going out, so I won't be home right away. ..." He laughed as he said, "I don't know. You've got my pager number if you need me, right? ... Okay, I'll see you later. Bye."

"What was that all about?" she asked with a grin.

He just laughed and shook his head. "It was nothing."

Somehow, she knew he was hiding something, but she decided to let it slide.

A short while later, they were seated across from each other in a back booth at a small diner about four blocks from the hospital.

"This has got to be the only place in Chicago that makes milkshakes this good after Midnight," she commented. "I can't believe you knew this was here."

He laughed slightly, "Too many long, slow nights in the ER. I'd take a break and wonder around. One night I ended up here."

"You just used 'slow' and 'ER' in the same sentence. I didn't think that was possible," she teased.

"Normally, it's not," he said with a laugh.

She watched as he aimlessly swirled his straw around in his milkshake. Grinning, she said, "I didn't invent the concept, so I may be wrong here, but for the bad day therapy to have the full effect, I think you actually need to drink the milkshake."

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"How are you holding up?" she asked carefully.

He sighed heavily. "I don't want to believe it. Not now."

"What do you mean?" she inquired.

He drew in a deep breath before he started to explain. "Dad and I really didn't talk that much until a couple years ago. When I used to call the house, if he answered, he'd just say, 'I'll get your mother.'"

"So what happened?" she wondered as she sipped her milkshake.

"Mom had a stroke, she fell and did some damage to her knee. I went out there for a couple weeks to help out. I learned a lot," he said. He thought for a moment, then started to elaborate. "I used to think that the reason he never made it past captain was because of his attitude. Then, I found out that he passed up a chance at making admiral so he could be home for me, and wouldn't be out on a ship for months at a time. He always wanted me to go into the Navy, I guess so I could finish what he never got a chance to do. I choose med. school instead, and I always thought I disappointed him. While I was in San Diego, he had an emphysema attack. We were in the ER at the Naval Hospital, and there was a chopper crash. They put the pilot in the curtain area next to us. Dad was trying to calm the kid down, when he stopped talking. He had a tension pneumo. I'm not licensed in California, so I couldn't do anything, but the attending asked me to talk an intern through inserting a chest tube."

"That's the story he was trading with my mother over dinner, wasn't it?" she questioned with a smile.

"Yeah," he chuckled.

"He sounded pretty proud of you then," she commented.

"Yeah, I guess so," he agreed quietly as he stared at the table. He sighed. "Want to know the worst part of all of this? I honestly think I've gotten to know him more in the last six months than in the last thirty-seven years. And now I'm going to lose all of it."

"But at least he's here, and you can make the most of the time that you do have together," she reminded him gently.

He looked up at her and smiled weakly. "That's because of you."

"How's that?" she asked with a confused expression.

"You're the one who kept pushing me to reach out to him. I don't think I can ever thank you enough for that," he said sincerely.

"You don't have to," she assured him. She paused a moment, then said, "After you left for the hospital on Thanksgiving, your father asked me how you were doing, dealing with your mother's death. He said she'd always acted as a bridge between the two of you."

"That sounds about right," he admitted. Smiling faintly, he said, "And now you are. Thank you."

"I didn't do that much," she said, shaking her head. "I may have just given you each a push in the right direction."

"Everything that's happened in the last few months makes so much more sense now," he said sadly. "The cypress tree, agreeing to come here for Thanksgiving. He didn't want to go into the nursing home, because he didn't want to die there. I should have known it was way too easy convincing him to move to Chicago. I can't believe I didn't realize this earlier."

"Mark, from what you saw, there is no way you could have been reasonably expected to conclude that he had cancer," she reasoned. "He'd just lost his wife, you're the only family he has left. It's natural that he would want to spend more time with you."

"I know you're probably right," he conceded, "but I just can't stop thinking about what I should have done differently, what I can't do now. I hate feeling this damn helpless."

"You've been a doctor too long," she said with a slight grin in an attempt to make him feel a little better.

He tried to smile, but just couldn't do it. "I spend all day helping people I've never even met before, saving their lives. And I can't do a thing for my own father."

"Doesn't really seem fair, does it?" she asked sympathetically.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed sadly.

She reached across the table, picked up his hand and laced her fingers with his. After a few moments, she asked, "How'd Rachel take the news?"

"I haven't told her yet," he admitted.

"Really?" she questioned.

He hesitated, then said, "I wanted to tell you first."

"That means a lot," she said softly. "Thank you."

He smiled, then sighed heavily. "I've been trying to figure out what would be the best way to tell her. I'd rather she hear it face to face, but I don't want Jen to relay the message and I really don't think I should leave Dad to go to Saint Louis. Maybe I could talk to Jen about letting Rachel come here for the weekend."

"If you wanted to go to Saint Louis, I could check on your father," she offered.

"I really appreciate that," he said sincerely, "but right now, I think I'm leaning towards having Rachel come here. I'd like for them to be able to spend some time together."

"That would probably be good for both of them, and for you," she agreed.

He paused for a moment, then asked, "Do you want me to call your mother?"

She looked at him with a slightly strange expression. "Why?"

"I, um, I just thought it might be better if I told her about Dad. I don't want you to get caught in the middle of this," he explained softly.

"That's sweet," she smiled, "but I can handle my mother."

"Are you sure?" he questioned. "Because I don't mind."

"Don't worry about it," she assured him. "I'm assuming your father doesn't want her to 'come rushing back' once she finds out."

"I'd say that's a pretty safe assumption," he admitted sadly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand, and I'll explain it to her."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"No problem," she said with a smile.

He took a sip of his milkshake to cover the silence. Finally, he said, "After Mom died, I knew I'd have to deal with this one day. I just never thought it would be so soon."

"I know," she nodded understandingly. Somewhat hesitantly, she asked, "Do you think your father would be okay on his own tonight?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I suppose so. Why?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to come back to my place. You don't look like you should be alone right now," she explained.

He looked at her and smiled weakly. "How do you know me so well?"

"I've paid attention during the last year," she replied with a grin.

"Wow," he commented after a moment. "Can you believe it's been almost a year?"

"The Trauma Physicians' Conference," she smiled.

He laughed softly. "Best conference I ever went to."

"Me, too," she agreed.

Elizabeth awoke to the sound of raindrops pelting the window outside her bedroom. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was four-thirty. She sighed contentedly. She wasn't on until ten, so that left plenty of time to sleep. Noticing that the room had gotten cooler, she turned over to snuggle closer to Mark. Reaching out, she was surprised to find his side of the bed empty. She propped herself up on one arm and looked around. The indentation on his pillow told her that he'd actually been there, that it wasn't just a dream. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her robe and walked into the living room.

He was sitting on the sofa, watching the rain fall outside.

"Hey," she said softly as she walked closer to him.

He turned to look at her. "What are you doing up?" he wondered.

She smiled. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"Couldn't sleep," he answered. "What's your excuse?"

"Missed you," she said with a smile as she sat down next to him. Seriously, she asked, "Are you getting ANY sleep?"

"Some," he shrugged. From the look she gave him, he knew she didn't buy his answer. After a moment, he admitted, "It's hard to get to sleep. There's just so much running through my head. Most of the time, I just stay in bed, since Dad's in the living room, and end up tossing and turning all night. I didn't want to disturb you, so I came out here."

She didn't say anything immediately. Turning to look at him, she said, "I'm worried about you, Mark."

"I'll be fine," he said a little too quickly.

She studied him for a moment, then asked, "Which one of us are you trying to convince?"

He sighed heavily. "My father's dying, Elizabeth. I started med. school almost thirteen years ago, and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it. I'm trying to be there for him, but I don't know what I'm doing here."

She moved so that she was seated a little closer, wrapped her arm around him and gently rubbed his back. "You're not supposed to know how to handle this," she reminded him gently. "He's you're father, you're used to him being there for you. This is going to be one of the hardest things that you have ever had to face. But you don't have to do it alone."

He looked at her curiously, and she continued. "You're going to be taking care of your father. And Rachel, once she finds out. Let me take care of you."

He smiled weakly as he whispered, "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," she assured him. "You're not on until Noon, want to try to get some more sleep?"

"Sure," he nodded as he stood up, reached for her hand and pulled her up next to him. He kissed her gently as he repeated, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered.

Elizabeth quickly shut off the alarm the next morning, hoping that it wouldn't wake Mark. She breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she turned over and found him sleeping soundly. She watched him for a few moments, a slight smile on her face, before she reluctantly got out of bed and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

About an hour later, she was getting ready to leave for the hospital. She walked back to the bedroom, planning to reset the alarm so Mark would wake up in time for his shift, but she changed her mind as she watched him sleep. She went into the living room and made two telephone calls before sitting down at her desk and writing a short note. She returned to the bedroom as she folded the note and placed it on her pillow.

Later that afternoon, Peter and Elizabeth were standing at the nurses' station, discussing the surgical schedule for the rest of the day when Elizabeth's pager went off. As she unclipped her pager and glanced at the display, she couldn't help but smile.

"Who is it?" Peter wondered.

"My apartment," she answered with a smile as she reached for the phone.

"You're apartment?" he questioned silently.

"Thank you," Mark answered with a grin as he picked up the phone in Elizabeth's apartment.

"You're welcome," she smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Thanks for letting me sleep in."

"No problem," she replied. "I called your father and he's doing fine. I also talked to Kerry, and she said come in if you feel like it. If not, don't worry about it."

"I think I'm just going to take a quick shower, change, stop by my place, check on Dad, then come in," he commented.

She nodded. "Okay. Then I guess I'll see you later."

"You're on until ten, right?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"If we can find half an hour where all hell's not breaking loose, want to get dinner at Doc's?" he wondered.

"With an offer like that, how can I refuse?" she laughed.

"Well, is that a yes?" he asked with a laugh.

"Yeah," she replied.

"I'll see you later. Bye," he said softly.

"Okay. Bye," she said with a smile as she hung up.

Peter was watching with an amused expression. "I guess I don't need to ask who that was."

Elizabeth just laughed.

"You two are getting pretty serious, aren't you?" he questioned.

"I think so. Yeah," she nodded after a moment.

"Well, you look happy," he commented. "You deserve it."

"Thank you," she said with a sincere smile.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've written Mark and Susan fics before, but this is the first Mark and Elizabeth fic I've posted. I'd really love to know what you think of it, good or bad. Please e-mail me at SixteenOzs02@yahoo.com Thanks for reading!

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