Sun is creeping down
Behind the hill
Everything is calm
Everything is still

It's a day like any other. You got up at five AM and you drank peppermint tea as George stumbled blindly around the kitchen, trying to find the bread and subsequently tripping over himself and his trailing sheet wrapped around his waist. You closed your ears to Meredith's giggling upstairs with Derek and you stared out the window at the first streak of light in the sky, and it was a day – just the start of the day like any other day.

You tumbled into the car with Meredith and made a few sarcastic remarks at George, who just couldn't seem to get his hair in order, and blinked tiredly as the rare sun rose above the horizon and sort of stung your eyes a bit. When you arrived at the hospital, the mist was rising off the lake and just before you walked through the doors, you had a slight sense of foreboding that disappeared as your eyes blinked to adjust to the hospital light.

So baby close your eyes
And rest your weary mind
Let me hold you close I'll sing you this lullaby

She's so frail; she's an hour old and spina bifida has rendered her so fragile. You can't hold her, but you worry over her and touch the softness of her cheek, and push back your blonde curls to get a better look at her milky blue eyes and the shape of her mouth when she cries.

Addison stands by the isolette; she scribbles something in a chart in writing that's unlike any doctor's writing you've ever seen. It's loopy and feminine, and all the terms are totally readable. She catches your eyes before you can move them back to the baby, but instead of asking you what you want, all she does is smile.

"You're good with her, Stevens."

You blush almost imperceptibly under the isolette lamp, but you smile, anyway.

"Thank you, Dr. Montgomery."

Let your worries go
You fall asleep
Think of nothing more
Memories will keep

She leaves you on-call for the night; the baby is fragile and not breathing well. You're already tired because it's just one of those dragging days, but you do it because she asked you nicely and because she's your boss, and hell, because she's there and her eyes are soft and you suddenly miss her smile, so you do it so that she'll flash it at you.

In this case, she doesn't know the child will die. In this case, she couldn't have foreseen the code and foreseen you doing infant CPR until you feel your fingers will fall off. When the baby slips away at 5:31 AM, you're exhausted and emotionally drained. When she comes in at six, you can't look at her, but not because you're angry.

"Stevens, what happened?" Her voice isn't angry, but you wince anyway.

"She coded – I couldn't do anything." Your voice is flat, but the last sentence has a desperate ring to it that causes her face to soften from annoyed and upset to sympathetic. You crack your fingers and look at the floor, and when you look up, there are tears in your eyes that you hope she doesn't see.

Instead of ignoring you and walking out, though, she puts a hand on your back and rubs it gently.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Stevens."

Your dreams will turn to gold
And you will waken fine
Then you'll hold a smile all day from this lullaby

You feel your face screw up; you feel your hands fly to your face because if she had just been less sympathetic, you would have been able to keep control. As it is, you're stuck crying in front of the beautiful attending in an ugly sort of horrible way, and she's not leaving like you half-hope she will.

When she puts her arms around you, you're glad she stayed.

Maybe somewhere in the silence
You will wake and you're alone
Just call out and I'll be there

She holds you close and she murmurs, "It's not the first time a preemie's died. It won't be the last. You need to learn distance, Stevens."

You sniffle against her shoulder and she holds you a little tighter as you reply. "I tried, but I couldn't help her. And I don't care how much distance I need to learn – I can't get over a dead baby in a few minutes."

She strokes your hair; you sigh shakily and try to get yourself under control, and she nods, once, twice.

"It's okay to cry. It's just not okay to let this affect you longer than it should."

You sniffle and watch her lips curve into a smile as her sapphire eyes find your brown ones and her fingers stroke the curls from your face.

Even when I'm gone
Each day will end
So I'll say 'goodnight'
'Til we meet again

She leans down and her lips meet yours; she tastes like cherry lip gloss and you can feel the slightly numbing effect on your own lips as her tongue thrusts into your mouth and you lean into the kiss. It's totally ridiculous for this to happen, but it's perfect and you sort of wish that it could go farther. Your eyes close; your hands reach around her to draw her closer, and she breaks the kiss to study your face more closely. She pulls away, catching your hand, and leads you to the door. You eagerly anticipate what will happen next.

But as the alarm blares, you realize you'll never know. You squint at the unaccustomed sun-streak in the eastern sky, swing your legs out of bed, and prepare to spend another day missing the attending who escaped from the rain.

Now baby close your eyes
And rest your weary mind
I'll let you know the joy you bring
You, this lullaby