Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Dr. Phoenix? Dr. Phoenix, can you hear me?"
"I. . .plane. The-The plane."
A pale white strip of gauze is secured around my head, the matted blue scrubs having transformed into a hospital gown.
"Cristina. I-I need Cristina. Where is she?"
The glimpse of Derek's muffled screams against a ragged t-shirt, Meredith's hands sticking a safety pin into his arm.
"And my husband. I need my husband."
A clear oxygen tube invades my nostrils, and I try everything to take it off.
"Alright, alright. Hold on." An unfamiliar woman restrains my wrists. "You've been in a plane crash. I can't let you leave this hospital room."
"I want my dad."
- - - - - - - - - -
"I made you breakfast."
Silence.
"Blueberry waffles. It's your favorite."
Silence again.
"Leven, can you talk to me?"
"She shouldn't have died."
- - - - - - - - - -
"All she ever does is sit in his room. And talk to him."
"It's like she's incapable of anything else."
"Well, what do you expect? They were in a plane crash."
The newest batch of interns linger outside of the exam room, where the blinds stand mostly shut but leave room to look inside.
"What's the dessert of the day?"
Sitting in the hospital bed is a well and awake Mark Sloan, his palms rubbed together in anticipation of what's inside the tupperware.
"Just snickerdoodles."
"They're not just snickerdoodles. Nothing beats your snickerdoodles, Lev." He takes one out of the container. "How are you doing? How's the old ball and chain?"
"Good. We're both good."
"She's the only kid of legendary Lennox Phoenix, married to the Derek Shepherd, and best friends with Yang and Grey."
"Which one?"
"Does it matter?"
"Why not?"
"You didn't hear about the Greys, did you?"
Mark takes the cover of the container and hurls it towards the glass window. The interns disperse from their personal viewing window at the sudden noise, muttering excuses under their breaths and getting back to work.
"Don't listen to them, you hear me?"
"Yeah. Okay."
"Don't do this. Don't shut us out."
- - - - - - - - - -
"Just. . .try and keep talking to her. She'll have to respond some day."
"Alright. Thanks, Cristina."
The call ends with a click from the cellphone before falling to the nightstand with a clatter. His side of the bed dips as he moves under the covers.
"Leven?"
Only a hum sounds from my mouth.
"Leven, what can I do to help you? I want to help you feel better, to feel whole again. But I. . .I don't know what else to do or say."
Similar to the last three months, he's met with silence.
- - - - - - - - - -
"You don't have to leave, you know."
"I know. But it's the only thing that feels right."
"Is this your way of running away?"
"Of course it is. Because horrible things happen here."
Cristina carries down the last of her boxes from her apartment and drops it into the trunk of her convertible.
"Know where you're going?"
"Yeah. It's one highway all the way to Minnesota. . .through Montana, cross one of the Dakotas — can't remember which."
Realizing there's nothing I can do to stop here, my arms tug her into an unwilling embrace. She sighs heavily and relishes in the feeling before letting go.
Before leaving Seattle.
- - - - - - - - - -
"We deserve this leave of absence."
Derek rubs the washcloth over my bare back, gently squeezing suds and soapy water down the skin. My arms tightly grip the edges of the tub, knuckles glistening white in the dim light.
"I made a fresh batch of snickerdoodles. Thought you'd want some after the bath."
His other hand, the one still recovering from the accident, brushes strands of dark hair over my right shoulder.
"I promise you, you'll feel better. Whether it takes weeks or months. . .you will feel better."
Leaning forward as far as he can, the doting husband presses soft, comforting kisses between my shoulder blades.
"Take all the time you need to. . .to get back on your feet. To go back to work."
"Why?"
He looks up abruptly, surprised I'd spoken without being asked to.
"Why did they die, Derek?"
My head lifts up and stares at the tiled wall ahead of me.
"We thought she was asleep."
Unforgiving tears burn my eyes.
"Everyone thought she was asleep. But when that helicopter came, they. . .they just threw the tarp over her. They didn't even try."
Every part of my body shivers.
"They didn't try to save her. To revive her."
Cautiously, he touches a hand to my shoulder. The movement grows, and his lips graze over my temple and hair.
"I thought Meredith was sleeping."
- - - - - - - - - -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor falls slower and slower. Callie sits on his left, Derek and I on his right.
The three of us share a glance of realization, knowing the inevitable is upon us.
And the beeping. . .turns into the deafening monotone sound.
Callie bursts into tears against her hand, clutching Mark's shoulder for dear life. Derek sighs heavily, his own tears flowing freely as he pats a hand against his friend's chest.
And me?
The tears I thought I'd already shed come faster than a bolt of lightning.
That is how Seattle Grace Mercy West lost three of its best doctors.
How the world lost a Sloan and two Greys.
How our hearts formed a hole that could never be filled.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Derek?"
I approach him slowly, hands fiddling with the hem of my shirt. His eyes soften with sorrow yet surprise, a calm of joy as I speak to him without being asked to.
One of many firsts since the accident.
"Oh, Leven."
Once he's within reach, our fingers intertwine, and I gently pull him into bed.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."