Author's Note: This story is pretty out-there, and updates will most likely be slow so I apologize in advance.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Grey's Anatomy.

Summary: Set during the season 6 finale. Derek is dead, Cristina is dead, and Meredith doesn't want to keep fighting. There's a season 3-like "afterlife" premise, where Meredith is confronted by the dead. Except this time when she wakes up, it's four years earlier and her first day as an intern. That's pretty much as far as I've planned this story, so we'll see how the rest turns out.

ooooo

"Shoot me." Meredith stood at the edge of the OR. Her mind was blank, all rational thought eclipsed by emotion. Mr. Clark turned towards her, his gun pointed at Cristina. Meredith kept her eyes on his. She couldn't look at the man on the operating table. Not now, when she needed to do this.

"Meredith," pleaded Cristina.

"You want justice right? Your wife died, I know what happened. Derek told me the story. Lexie Grey is the one that pulled the plug on your wife, she's my sister. Dr. Webber, he was your wife's doctor. I'm the closest thing he has to a daughter. And the man on the table, I'm his wife. If you wanna hurt them, the way that you hurt, shoot me. I'm your eye for an eye."

"Meredith..."

Mr. Clark slowly swung his arm forward, training the gun on Meredith. He stepped towards her; slow, careful strides. The gun shook in his hand. Meredith's eyes flickered from Cristina, to Owen, to Jackson, to Derek. Her breathing hitched and she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. "Tell Derek that I love him and that I'm sorry."

Cristina cried out and stumbled towards Meredith. Mr. Clark immediately turned and fired. Cristina was thrown backwards, unconscious as blood pooled from a shot to the side. Meredith collapsed to her knees. "No, no, no." Not Cristina. Not her person. Not because of her.

"We're losing him," exclaimed Jackson as the monitors beeped urgently.

Mr. Clark watched the monitors as the beeping increased in frequency, growing more and more urgent until they merged into a single continuous pitch. Flatline. Meredith screamed, pushing herself up shakily and lunging towards Mr. Clark. Another shot, and she was on the floor. Her vision flickered but she was conscious. In her line of vision was Cristina, her blood mixing with Meredith's. Slowly, she grabbed Cristina's hand. It was cold. Someplace far away, Jackson was pressing on her stomach and calling April from the scrub room.

"The baby," Meredith breathed. She was vaguely aware of April crying and holding her other hand. The lights of the OR were blindingly bright, and red and black flashes danced across her vision. It was too much to ask for her to keep fighting this time. Meredith sighed, and let herself be enveloped in the warmth of white light.