You Promised | Mark Sloan ✓

60┃convincing

S7 EP3

TIMOTHY THRASHED AND turned on the bed; the flashes of bright lights, loud bangs, and crimson red blood spiralled in his mind.

It was as though he could see the gun pointing at him again, the contraction of the muscle, pulling the trigger-BANG.

His pillow was wet, as well as his shirt; both soaked in his sweat.

He staggered into the bathroom, splashing the cold water on his face as he tried to calm his head.

He was at his apartment, he was safe, yet the nightmares had rarely died down since the shooting.

It was still haunting him alive and he had no idea what to do about it.

❦ ❦ ❦

NORAH PRESSED DOWN the lever of the toaster before grabbing a clean glass from the racks. She poured herself a cold glass of milk while her foot tapped to the beats of the music in her earphones.

The sun had barely started to rise and she could see the lights turning on in houses after houses through the window. The morning was a cool one since it had rained the day before.

She was lightly humming to the music she was listening to when she felt something hitting her on the back. Turning around, she saw Derek walking into the kitchen and the candy on the floor that he had thrown at her.

She took off one side of her earphones and raised a brow at him while gulping down her milk. "I asked: Why are you wearing a jacket?" he queried again.

"I just came back from a run," she stated the obvious, gesturing at the polyester running jacket that she was wearing. "Morning runs are healthy, and recommended by my therapist."

He furrowed his brows at her and peered at the wall clock, "At five in the morning...? Again?"

"Hey, you don't get to judge me, Mr Reckless Endangerment," she scoffed, rinsing the glass under the cold running water.

"It's Dr Reck-never mind."

Norah snorted while he walked over to the kitchen and set the coffee pot to boil. She spread jam onto a slice of toast then margarine onto another; he crept up from behind in an attempt to steal back a slice, but she smacked his hand away when his phone rang. He sank back into his seat and settled for his coffee while setting his phone to silent.

"What about you? Why are you up at five, this time?" she asked, chomping on her remaining slice of toast.

"Cristina is in my bed."

Cristina had been frequently sleeping over when Owen had to work late at the hospital. Norah was often awake when she heard the shuffling outside her room, then the creaking of the door opening.

"She was in mine two days ago," she stated, "She had a PTSD episode, Derek. Let her sleep with your wife."

Cristina having a full-on meltdown inside the OR two weeks ago was not something anyone saw coming, and she had been noticeably jumpier and more paranoid ever since that day.

"You know, you're the third person in your marriage," Norah smirked.

"Trust me, I do know," Derek sighed before frowning at her, "Since when do you eat the crusts of your bread slices?"

She glanced down at her half-eaten jam toast and swallowed the bite in her mouth. "I was running for at least an hour. I'm hungry, it's normal."

"Wait, so you went for a run at four in the morning?"