Title: Sorry About All The Death 2

Author: Maggiemerc

Rating: T

Summary: In the woods Meredith watches Arizona. In the city Callie answers the door. Post-8x24 "Flight."

Author's Note: I hate coming up with titles. So this is just part 2? Guys this episode gave me strong feelings.

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She didn't know Dr. Robbins well. They were co-workers sure. They ran in the same circles and knew the same people. They had the same woman as the godmother of their respective children. But she didn't actually know the woman.

She was always so perky. Like… No Lexie never would have had a pink scrub cap. Hers would have been bad ass. It would have shamed other surgeons the moment they saw it. Not like Robbins. The woman was the opposite of bad ass.

Except. Well Cristina seemed okay wit her. And Derek seemed to have a fondness for her. And she was actually a really excellent surgeon. Meredith's definite go to surgeon if anything happened to Zola. And Alex. She actually got Alex to behave without using sex or sad Izzie cancer eyes. That was a feat right?

But she wasn't Lexie.

Derek and Cristina had built a new fire. It wasn't very good. Really it was as sad as the last one. Though they'd actually gathered enough wood to keep it going for more then the time it took for a few dried leaves to burn. The pilot and Robbins gave tips. Someone suggested using the broken flare from the flare gun so they built it again. This fire held a little better. Maybe not enough to be seen from the sky—but these guys couldn't even see what had to be a huge gash in the tree line from when they landed.

Their odds were not looking good.

Better than Lexie's. Irrational laughter bubbled up in her chest and she closed her eyes to ward it off. Lexie was dead. Dead. Gone. Like George. Like her mother. Evaporated into nothing. She wouldn't baby sit any more. Wouldn't watch her niece grow up.

And oh God, she was going to have to tell her father. And their sister. The one she always forgot about. And they'd stare at her accusingly. Wonder why she survived when the good sister died.

Derek must have sensed something was wrong. He reached out with his good hand and took hers and gave it a squeeze.

Across from them Robbins stared into the fire while softly stroking Mark's hair. He seemed to take comfort from the physical affection. The look of death that had governed his face since Lexie left them had relaxed into something more peaceful. Just when she started to worry it was too peaceful Robbins' fingers drifted down to take his pulse before returning to their place in his hair.

On the other side of Meredith Cristina popped her gum and stared angrily into the distance. They each had their own way to handle their circumstances. Screaming. Yelling. Obsessions with shoes. Cristina had settled into a new and largely unnatural state for herself. She was furious. It rolled of her in waves and made even Derek, who was so worn down by fatigue and pain he couldn't keep his eyes open, wary.

"Should we," Robbins coughed weakly and wiped her hand against the ground, "sing or something? To stay awake?"

The pilot fidgeted in his seat, "I know a camp song."

All five conscious doctors visibly shuddered at the idea.

Robbins started laughing. It was just short of hysterical and cut short by another coughing fit.

"What's so funny," Cristina asked. Her patience had long disappeared.

"I was just thinking about Alex. Taking this trip away from him was supposed to be punishment."

She laughed again and Derek grunted in amusement. Another coughing fit wracked her body and she tried to curl into it but winced when her shattered leg wouldn't allow it. She paused when it passed. Seemed to stare at her hand a long moment. Then she wiped her hand on the ground.

Meredith had to ask it, she didn't want to. She suspected she knew what the answer would be. But she had to ask it. "Arizona?" The other woman looked up. "Are you okay?"

Cristina shifted on her right and looked from her to Robbins. Derek tried to watch her as well, though sleep was fast becoming his enemy and his eyes drooped close again.

"I'm fine."

"Because you have a compressed femur fracture. There's a chance you could—"

"Throw a clot. Have a pulmonary embolism," she challenged, "I know the risks Meredith. I also know that even if that was the case there's nothing any of us can do about it."

Silence. The snap of leaves turning to ash in the fire.

"Is it?" That was Cristina. Her voice like tempered steel.

Arizona looked away. Tears flickered for a moment on her cheeks. "Short of breath, feels like someone is sitting on my chest and I've been coughing up blood since somewhere," she looked up into the night sky, "around noon I think. And I just started running a fever. But that," she tried to reposition herself and failed, "could just be infection from the break."

In a hospital Meredith would have known exactly what to do. She knew the exact dose of heparin. Knew the exact way to treat the infection and even, thanks to Callie, how to save the leg. In a hospital Robbins would be uncomfortable for a few days, stuck on crutches or a walker for a few months and then back in shape.

But out here. Out here her chances dwindled. The PE could fix itself. But they were already fighting the odds. They'd crashed in a plane and then survived it with no loss of limb.

So Cristina, emotionally exhausted and so close to breaking Meredith thought she could see the shards of her falling to the ground, said what had to be said. "I'm sorry."

Robbins coughed again and looked down to the man in her lap. "He doesn't need to know."

They all knew why.

####

Pounding on the door woke her up. Someone was pounding so hard she thought it might fall off its hinges. She shuddered at the explosive sound of it. Then a shiver ran through her. She was cold.

Oh right. She was nearly naked. A veritable palette of sexy paints were laid out on the night stand. She'd been waiting for her wife. The clock read past ten. She wrapped her barely there robe around herself to answer the door. Then thought better of it and grabbed her usual robe off the bathroom hook.

"Hold on," she shouted.

Sofia, woken by the noise, started making sounds in her room.

Damn it. Off all the times for Arizona to be late and forget her keys. Irritation overwhelmed the desire to drag her wife into the apartment and take her right there on the couch.

She swung the door open, "Arizona next time you want to leave you keys at the hospital—"

But it was Owen. The Chief. Cristina's husband. A bearer of bad news. Always, always bearing bad news. His burden was etched into the deep lines of his face and it looked as though grief itself was about to bring him to his knees.

Something cold and terrifying shot through Callie.

He opened his mouth and his words hung in his throat.

She shook her head. The day coming into focus. She'd kept her distance. Didn't call Arizona. She knew her wife needed space to deal with her grief. But she hadn't answered Alex's calls either. And it was well past the time she should have been home. She would have called. Mark would have called.

She could feel her body shaking. Cold fire leeching every bit of warmth she'd ever known. "No."

Her wife was alive. Her wife was on her way home. She was happy. She was healthy. Her wife was alive.

"Their plane went down."

His voice was raw. His own tears had stripped everything away.

"When?"

He shook his head.

"Owen—"

"They've got helicopters looking for them. It was a short flight. So the distance is small."

She spun around. Ran to her purse and pulled out her phone.

"I already tried—"

She ignored him. Calling her wife was easy. As natural as breathing. She hit send and waited. The switch to voicemail was abrupt. Mark.

"Callie."

She hit send again. Mark's baritone.

Her phone flew out of her hand. Smashed against the floor. She wanted to hit something. Wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Her hand clinched into a fist. Nails bit into skin. Oh God Sofia. She'd hear. She'd remember this. Kids always remembered the worst moments. The ones you wanted them to forget.

Owen rushed and caught her just as her knees gave up holding her. "We have to—" she choked out.

He stroked her hair. "I know."

"Owen. She hates flying." And camping. Her dad used to drag her and her brother out camping. He was a perfectionist and it made her miserable. "Yes I can probably skin a squirrel Callie, doesn't mean any human should."

"They're looking."

Callie tried to stand. "We should look."

"Callie—"

"My wife, Owen. My best friend."

He knew. His wife was out there too. Her best friend. Their friends. Their loved ones.

She didn't want to cry. Arizona was scared and hurt and out there in the darkness waiting for Callie to keep up her end of the bargain. To be there. To be strong when she couldn't. She didn't want to cry.

"Anyone else know?"

If she talked. If she kept her brain moving maybe she could skirt the tears. Avoid them. Hold them off just a little longer.

Owen shook his head. "Not yet. I wanted to tell you first."

Someone squeezed someone else's hand. They shared a look. "They'll be all right," she heard herself say. They had to be. When she was at death's door Arizona was by her side. She never left. She never believed in anything but Callie. She could do the same. "When was the crash?"

"This morning."

She closed her eyes. Beat back the tears with physical force.

"I—I told them to send my calls to voicemail. Said if it wasn't about someone dying—" Owen's voice cracked.

"It's not your fault."

"I should have—"

"They had a flight plan? Someone was looking right? Someone figured it out before you?"

He nodded.

"Then they'll find them. Maybe they already have. Maybe some…farmer found them and is giving them a ride back to Seattle in the back of his truck."

Owen laughed.