The Redheads of Mmm...Doctor!

Title: Orchids
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG
Pairings: Elizabeth/Romano, mentioned Elizabeth/Mark
Category: angst, friendship, character death
Date: 2 January 2004
Series: n/a
What Has Gone Before: n/a
Summary: Elizabeth reflects on Romano's death.
Warnings: Character death discussion…You've been warned.
Spoilers: “Freefall” & vague mentions of “On the Beach.”
Website: http://www.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions…anyone else must ask first…

Disclaimer: “ER”, the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, Amblin Entertainment, Constant C Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "ER", NBC, or any representatives of Alex Kingston or Paul McCrane.

Author's Notes: Mosca did a Truth-or-Dare game on her LiveJournal and of course I played, but couldn't decide which I wanted, so I let her choose. Her response? All right. Dare: Robert Romano, flowers.

"Orchids" by A. Magiluna Stormwriter

He always left her orchids. Didn't matter the occasion. It was always orchids. Even at Mark's funeral, the tastefully somber arrangement bore a single, striking orchid in the center. His silent acknowledgement of her and her feelings amidst the roses, lilies, and carnations left for Mark.

She remembered asking him their significance once, not long before Mark's tumour had resurfaced. His only response was that they were far sturdier than they appeared. The words were accompanied by that look: disappointment, resignation, admiration...love.

Just as she'd been forgotten in the crushing grief of losing Mark, so he had been forgotten in the surreality of his own death. No one had come to his memorial service. No one had cared to. And yet, there were all those flowers piled high on the spot where he'd died. Roses, lilies, carnations. They were more concerned with their daily lives, the fact that they were no longer under his regime. No one mourned for the man himself, the intelligent, feeling human being under the bastardly exterior. Not even Kerry Weaver.

But she did. And she gently placed the photograph among the other offerings. And then she tenderly placed the orchid in a prominent place of honour.

It seemed appropriate somehow...