Shattered
A/N: Oh my god, I can't stop writing about this man! Every time I watch an episode, I get new ideas. This one-shot takes place in Episode 4, so some spoilers ahead.
❧ Summary: After a mission goes wrong, Mark arrives at your hospital in shock.
❧ Pairing: Mark Meachum x reader
❧ Wordcount: 1.8k
Main Masterlist | Mark Meachum Masterlist
You had just finished a 10 hour shift at the hospital. Still in your stained scrubs, you hadn't bothered to get changed. Your feet dragged towards the exit. Just get home, and then you could collapse in your bed. Mark wouldn't be home until later, but you were used to it by now. Hell, you used to live it.
What you didn't expect was to see him.
Broken—that's the word you'd use. He stood in the hallway like a ghost, dressed in a grey boiled suit, staring blankly at the Emergency Room door. His eyes darted around, a sure sign his mind was in overdrive. Processing, analysing, punishing himself with guilt.
"Mark?" you asked, voice shaking.
When he heard your panicked voice, he turned to you. But he didn't see you. His eyes wide in fear. His body fidgeted unsure what to do, feeling helpless. His brow furrowed unable to process what was happening.
Your dropped your bags with a heavy thud and rushed to him. "Mark?! Look at me" You grabbed him face in between your hands, firm but careful. "Is it the tumour?" He shook his head, unable to speak. Your eyes fell on the dark red spot on his chest. "Oh my god, are you hit?" He stared through you. "Mark! Are you hit?"
"Not mine," he muttered, voice hoarse
"One of your team?" He nodded numbly, his attention on the doors. "So you're okay? You're not injured?" No response. "Look at me, Mark" your voice soft. "Baby, look at me. I need to know you're not hurt." That worked.
When his eyes finally locked on yours, you felt a wave of emotion hit you. You'd only seen Mark like this a few times when you worked together at the LAPD. Times like this made you realise, beneath the armour, he was just as scared as the rest of us.
"I'm not hurt."
"Okay." Your thumb stroked his beard cheek, grounding him. Through the windows on the ER door, you couldn't see anything—that meant the patient had likely gone into surgery. "There's nothing you can do right now. Let's go to the waiting area, okay?" You quickly picked up your forgotten bags, gently guiding him down the hallway.
"You don't need to stay," he grumbled, allowing you to take him by the hand.
"I'm not leaving you," you argued.
"Y/N, you just finished a shif-"
"Don't argue with me on this. I'm not leaving you." You were firm in your response. He didn't push it.
"Fine." The waiting room was thankfully empty. You dropped your bags on a chair and turned to him.
"I'm going to see if I can get an update. The rest of your team coming?" He gave a small nod. As you went to walk away, his hand pulled you back—he refused to let you go. "I'll be back okay?" you promised, giving it a squeeze.
It you some time, but you finally found a doctor. Damon was in surgery. It didn't look good, but you weren't going to tell Mark and the team that. Not yet. Miracles happened around here. Maybe this would be one of them.
By the time you returned, Mark wasn't alone. His team had arrived, each one spaced out but not far from each other—close enough for silent solidarity. You had to remind yourself these were people that choose not to get close for their job, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.
You recognised them from Mark's descriptions.
The big guy at the coffee machine, filling up cups before getting his own? That had to be Luke Finau. You’d never met him, but Mark had talked about him from their LAPD days.
Across the room sat Agent Bell, from the FBI. He was positioned for a full view of the space. Mark said that he and Bell hadn't had much interaction, but he could tell he was good at his job.
The hacker girl, which Mark called her, was perched awkwardly on the armrest of a chair, clearly out of her element.
Oliveras, the woman Mark grumbled about constantly, sat nearest the entrance. Old DEA habits, probably. Or maybe she was listening for news.
In the middle of the group sat Mark, equal distance from all exits. You could see the guilt weighing on him like a stone. It had been his call to go undercover. Now someone had paid the price. He could handle himself getting hurt, but other people? He didn't process it well.
As you walked towards the group, you saw their heads pop up to look at you expectantly. Then you realised you were still wearing your scrubs. Oliveras stood up to meet you.
"Any news?"
"He's in surgery at the moment, we probably won't hear anything for a while." You gave her a soft smile. Your gaze shifted to Mark, who didn't move a muscle. Head in his hands. Eyes on the floor.
You wandered over to him, trailing a hand down his back. His muscles tensed for a second under your touch, until he opened his eyes to see you. One hand came to rest on your hip, his green eyes filled with dread as they peered up at you. God, you wanted to help him but the most you could do was just be here.
You could feel the curious glances from the rest of Mark's team, wondering what the relationship was between the two of you. Their profiling instincts had already noticed how Mark softened around you.
An hour later, Nathan burst through the doors, his eyes scanning the room. You left Mark briefly to give him an update on Damon. Nathan didn’t react—just nodded.
Another hour passed with no news of Damon. Mark had gone for a walk; he was never good with waiting. It was like watching a lion trapped in a cage.
You tried not to fall asleep in the waiting room. Your head propped up by the wall behind you, your eyes heavy. You had just worked a 10-hour shift, and you were still at the hospital 2 hours later. But you weren't going to leave Mark.
"So, you and Meachum?" Oliveras had taken the opportunity to slide into the seat next to you. You couldn't help but chuckle at the question. You had been waiting for someone to ask about the relationship between you two.
"I was waiting for someone to ask."
“I don’t mean to pry—it’s just… him?”
“It’s okay. I get it. He’s not exactly an open book.”
"That's an understatement."
"Uh... we're married"
"To Meachum?!" She exclaimed, then quickly hushed herself.. "Sorry"
You chuckled. "Not the first time I got that reaction." You pulled a necklace from underneath your scrubs. Three rings dangled from it—your wedding ring, your engagement ring, and Mark’s. "We got married whilst we were undercover. I used to work for the LAPD, but I left. Wanted to help people differently."
Olvieras nodded. "I can respect that." You played with the rings in your hand. "So you're not together?"
"Oh no, we're together." You paused. "We fell in love. After the mission, we never got an annulment or a divorce. So, we just left it. Five years later, here we are." You spotted Mark return, heading straight for the coffee. "He doesn't tell people. Thinks it's safer that way. If no one knows about me, they can't hurt me."
She smiled faintly. "So he does have a heart."
"Yeah, but don't let him know you know"
Oliveras zipped her lips. She stood as Mark came over with a cup of coffee. He fell into the chair next to you, silently handing you the coffee. You took a sip, passing it back to him. You got comfortable on his shoulder, his arm came around you, pulling you into him.
You didn't realise you had fallen asleep until he jostled you.
Everyone's eyes were on the surgeon talking to Nathan. Mark leaned forward in anticipation.
Even from a distance, you knew it wasn't good news. You could tell by their body language. You've had to do this before to families you didn't know. Tell them that you tried everything you could but their loved one had passed.
You quietly braced yourself.
When the surgeon left, Nathan turned to the group. Slowly, everyone stood.
"Officer Drew, uh Damon..." He paused, eyes glued to the floor. He swallowed heavily before he uttered the next words. "Died in surgery. They tried to, uh... They uh..." He cleared his throat, giving him time to get his emotions under control. "They said he lost too much blood. They did everything they could, but he..." Nathan trailed off.
You observed everyone's walls slowly crumble. No one looked at each other. They bowed their heads, stared at the wall or the floor. This was the hardest part of the job. The guilt would consume you like no other. The what-ifs. The why him?
Knowing Mark, this is exactly what he would be doing. Seeing how things could have gone differently. Every movement. Every word said. Every shot.
You leaned forward and gently took Mark’s hand in yours. He didn’t squeeze back. Not yet. But he would.
You’d seen this spiral before. Replay after replay. But there were no do-overs. And tomorrow, they'd all be back at work. Because that’s how it worked. You didn’t get time to grieve in this job. You just kept going.
Mark didn’t say much on the drive home. But when he walked through the front door, he exploded. He stormed into the kitchen and swiped a vase from the table. It shattered on the floor.
"Hey! I just bought that" You snapped, chasing after him. You grabbed his arm, spinning him to face you. Your heart immediately broke. His eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"I should have had a better plan," he rasped. "I was reckless" He raked over his forehead. "I was reckless because of this damn ticking time bomb in my head. It should have been me. I'm going to die anyway."
You took a step closer to him. "Don't say that!"
"Why not?! It's the truth! The doc gave us six months, Y/N. Six months. I'm already on borrowed time."
"You think I don't know that? You think I don't see you throwing yourself into danger like you have a death wish?" Your voice cracked with exhaustion and fear. "You think what's the point, right? I've only got a few months left. That's exactly the point, Mark! You still have six months. Six months to live. Six months with me." Your voice dropped to a whisper. You stepped into his space.
Your voice softened, eyes stinging. “Six months isn’t nothing, Mark. It’s dinners. It’s stupid arguments. It’s movie nights. It’s holding each other. It’s living. With me.”
His breath caught, and suddenly he was pulling you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline. His whole body trembled. You held him as tightly as he held you.
For a long time, neither of you moved. You just stood there in the mess—broken glass at your feet, hearts cracked but still beating—trying to remember how to breathe. Because sometimes, love isn't about fixing what's shattered.
Sometimes, it's just about staying. No matter what.
A/N: I know we didn't know Damon for long but this episode made me so emotional! A part of me hopes he's alive, and Nathan was just trying to get the team to work better together.
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