Spark.

Zurich, Switzerland.

November 20, 2015.

Cristina stood silently, staring at the evacuation protocol panel on the wall across from her. She could hear his parents discussing his options – no options, but still a discussion. His mother went back and forth between wanting to spare him the pain, and wanting to fight to the bitter end, and his father was uncharacteristically quiet. It was finally sinking in for him. For years peace had granted them a positive outlook. They had lived under the assumption that no symptoms meant no disease. Imagining that their child was healthy, even as his condition brought him closer and closer to death, must have given them sanity. Until now.

She was accompanied, as always, by her loyal resident. He was staring at the ground, also listening, but pretending that he wasn't. Shane had a soft heart and this kind of thing would bring him down for weeks. She would have spared him from it, if she could have faced it alone.

Eventually the door opened, indicating that they had come to a decision. Cristina pushed off of the wall, glanced at her friend, and then went inside, bracing herself for the emotional rollercoaster she was embarking on. She came into a quiet corner room, decorated and themed to the liking of her nine-year-old patient, John. He was asleep in bed, still out from his sedatives, but there was a little hitch in his brow. It was like he knew what they were discussing.

Cristina waited at a respectful distance from his parents. Both were relatively poor cashiers from a small town in Michigan – it was the rarity of their son's condition that got them a ticket here. Burke had invited them and set up a treatment plan for John. It was basically an order to make him comfortable until his inevitable death. When Burke left he trusted this patient to Cristina, and now, in the terminal ward, he took up one of the beds and was expected to stay for the next eleven years. It was only his sudden turn for the worst that had brought Cristina there today. His stats had started slipping as his defect put strain on his heart. She wondered if he would make it to the twenty-year prognosis Burke had given him, or if he would be claimed early, like the hundreds before him.

"We want you to treat him," his mother said. She had a habit of staring at John whenever she spoke, as if reminding herself that her words were in his interest. "We want you to do whatever you can… Burke said surgery might be an option in the future."

"It's been four years," his dad cut in.

"That surgery doesn't exist yet," Cristina responded softly. She walked to John's other side, turning him gently onto his back to run her finger over his heart. "His problem doesn't just come from his heart. Leighton's defect is associated with a deformed cardiovascular system. His body is getting blood, but he can't sustain growth."

"Can't you just fix it? Use those new printers to fix it?"

"It's much more complicated than that," Cristina insisted.

His mother whimpered, crouching down to take the boy's hand. Cristina had to look away. She hated how helpless she felt. Shane went to the mother, touching the bag of morphine hanging from the shelf above the boy. "We can take the pain away, but…"

"Shane," Cristina said, gazing at the boy now, instead of his grieving mother. "Um, take him for another set of images. Get me a good visual on his vessels."

It was going to show her the same thing it had that morning, but she had to do something. John had the sweetest face, and the kindest disposition. He reminded her of Owen, and she could not let him waste away in this bed. At least he would get to go somewhere other than this depressing room. It was better than being here with his parents, who grieved him like he had already died.

She left him to it, dodging the thanks of the parents. She had other issues to attend to, like the excitement of filing paperwork in regards to the completion of phase three of her clinical trial. She was headed straight back to her office to bury herself in it again, but something stopped her.

She heard crying.

She crossed the lobby and turned into the resident locker rooms, following the sound of an infant crying to the very back. One of the newer residents, fresh out of his internship in Marseille, was sitting on a bench holding a squealing baby at arm's length.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cristina demanded, a little too flabbergasted to react properly to this situation.

He looked at her, horror on his face, and tried to set the baby down on the bench. It rolled and he grabbed it again, standing and holding it out to her. "I don't know what it wants! It just keeps crying! I think it might be hungry but she didn't leave any food!"

Cristina stared at him, and then rose her voice above the crying. "You have ten seconds to explain what you're doing. If I'm not happy in ten seconds, you better buy a plane ticket back to France!"

"Dr. Danforth gave me this baby and told me to watch it!" he gasped. "Please don't fire me."

Her anger was extinguished, and she realized what she was seeing. Phyllis must have returned from that trip to the Philippines, and instead of finding a sitter, she had dumped her baby on one of the residents. It reminded Cristina of something Bailey had done to her once.

"Where did she go?" Cristina asked.

The resident shrugged.

"Give me the baby."

"But she said-"

"Give me the baby, Bambi," Cristina snapped, making the resident jump a little.

He handed the baby over and Cristina turned him in her arms, bouncing him to try and get him to stop crying. He must have been starving. He felt a little light for his age – what was it? Seven months? Eight months? – and he looked like he had been crying for a while.

"If you see Phyllis, tell her I have the kid in my office." She waited, but the resident remained where he was, watching her with big doe eyes. "You can go now."

"Are you going to f-f-f-fire me?"

"No. If you don't get back to work, I'll have to reconsider."

He skittered off, and she went back into the hall, glancing around to see if Phyllis happened to be wandering somewhere. She went straight back to her office, standing by the window and checking the parking lot for Phyllis' car. It wasn't there.

"What was your name again?" she said to the baby, continuing to rock him. His crying faded into whimpers of protest, and she empathized. His big blue eyes focused on her face and remained there. He was asking nicely for something to eat. "My boobs are empty, kid, but we'll get you something to nibble on. Can you nibble? Do you have teeth?"

He didn't answer, and she really didn't expect him to. It would have been helpful, though. She held him in one arm and pulled out her phone, sending Shane a text request for yogurt, ASAP.

"Of course you have teeth, you're eight months old," she went on, sitting on the edge of her desk. When the baby started crying again, she hopped up and went back to the window, bouncing him and rubbing his back. She brought up the memory of his birth, putting it on a timeline. He was eight and a half months old, and his name was Collin Danforth.

She spent almost twenty minutes keeping him calm until the door opened and Shane came in with the yogurt. He held it up, scowling, and slammed it onto her desk. "Fifty text messages for one cup of yogurt. I think you have priority problems."

She turned, showing him what she was holding. His eyes widened. "You remember Collin, right?" she asked, retrieving the yogurt and peeling the top off. She dipped her finger in, and then slipped it into the baby's mouth. He bit her, but the smile he gave when he realized that he had eaten was apology enough. She smiled back. "Phyllis' son."

"Did she bring him in? Is she back?"

"Uh, kind of. She left him with a resident. I found him totally sucking at parenting, so I stepped in. Good thing, too. I don't think he's eaten today."

Shane held the cup for her, unwrapping a spoon and handing it over. His dark mood was lost when he got a glimpse of Collin's radiant smile. He touched the baby's hand, grinning, and cooed at him. "Hey little guy. Who's a demon spawn? You are! Who's a demon spawn?"

Cristina smiled, unable to deny how adorable the kid in her arms was, but her concern for the baby's mother outweighed it. She handed him over to Shane, directing him to her chair with the yogurt cup. "Watch him. I'm going to find Phyllis."

"Leave her. Maybe she left for Mexico."

"Mexico is across an ocean."

"Poland then, whatever. Let her go."

"She's my friend… sort of. And she doesn't have anyone."

"Well you have a report to fill out, and I got off a few minutes ago, so I think I'll do the finding, and you'll do the babysitting." Shane stood, trying to pass the baby to Cristina. She backed away and he smirked. "Come on, you know you want to."

"I thought you liked babies."

"Honestly, I do, and I would rather stay here and snuggle this baby than go looking for your crazy friend, but do you know what happened when you were holding him?" He came closer, delivering the baby gently to her arms. He leaned within inches of her face, his eyes boring into her, and murmured, "You glowed."

Her heart sped at the implication he was making, and she wanted to protest, but the baby felt so warm in her arms. She withdrew from him, wishing she could wipe that smug look off of his face. She settled on an embarrassed smile. "Shut up."

He laughed. "You know, that's why I love you. You're adorable like once a year when something finally catches you off guard."

"Shane, I will hit you with this baby."

"Fine, I'm going."

She watched him leave, still smiling as she sunk into her chair. She fed Collin another spoonful of yogurt, running the spoon's edge along his lips to catch the excess. He was still staring at her, his little hand clutching the fabric of her shirt. He seemed to be content for the moment.

"You can ignore him," she said to Collin, setting the yogurt down and brushing the baby's hair back over his soft little head. "He's an idiot. I only keep him around to bring me lunch."

She waited, unable to escape the baby's gaze.

"I know you think I'm a horrible person. I forgot you existed. And I was there when you were born. I just have a lot on my plate, okay, kid?"

He made a little cooing sound, smiling at her.

She smiled back. "See? You get it. Sometimes we can't just… we can't just insert ourselves into other people's lives. Phyllis is an adult. If she wants to… to leave you…"

Collin kicked around a little, growing fascinated with her name badge.

Cristina ran her fingers over his little arm. She was captivated by him. She spoke quietly, gently, and got a little lost in her own words. "If she wants to leave you, it's up to her. She had it rough, you know. She lost her kid. Her other kid. Your brother… your dad."

He was occupied with her shirt now, trying his best to fit it into his mouth.

She leaned back, pulling him a little further up her chest, holding him a little closer to her heart. "Sometimes people end up being crappy parents. I would be a crappy parent, for example. You don't want me, kid. I have issues. Buckets of them."

His gaze shifted up to her again.

"Owen would be a good parent," she went on, cupping his face with one hand. She adjusted her arm under him, helping him sit up a little. "He always wanted a kid like you. We kind of… we fell apart over that. He wanted you, and I wanted… this." She looked around at her office, motioning for the baby's benefit. "It's nice, right?"

He clawed his way up her chest, biting the edge of her shirt, and then resting against her neck. His hair tickled her skin. His body was like a little radiator.

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty, it's not working," Cristina said. She put her hand on his back, surprised to find that it was trembling. She could feel his chest expanding. She could feel his heart beating. "You already have a mom. She just… she doesn't know…"

She waited, listening to the baby breathing against her neck. She didn't know what she should do. He snuggled his face into her skin, his eyelids fluttering as if he was trying to sleep.

Cristina drew him away, cradling him in her arms like a newborn. He looked like he would cry for a moment, but then he relaxed into her hold, one of his little hands spread against her forearm. He stretched his legs out, yawning, and turned his face into her breast, his eyes open, but drooping.

"She doesn't know how beautiful you are," Cristina murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. He smelled sweet. His skin was as soft as velvet. He leaned up into her touch, and looked over at her, like he was afraid she was going to vanish. And she watched him, and stayed perfectly still, and kept her breathing as even as she could, afraid that he would be disturbed.

She fell in love with him so easily that it was terrifying.

Hours later the door opened again and Shane crept inside, glancing at the slumbering baby and whispering, "I found her. She's down in the parking lot. Do you want me to take the baby to her?"

"I can do it."

Cristina stood, careful not to jar the infant, and she went quietly to the elevators. She gave deadly stares to anyone she crossed, all the way to the front doors. She waited there, breathing deeply, before she stepped outside. Shane followed, holding the door open for her, but he hung back as they approached Phyllis' car.

Her friend stepped out, looking strangely bright, and dangled her keys.

"Girls' night?"

Cristina stared at her. "What?"

"Come on. I have a full tank of gas and money to burn."

Cristina looked down at the baby, baffled by Phyllis' response. She expected remorse, or apology, or even shame, but she wasn't even sure Phyllis registered that her son was also present.

"I got a sitter. We can drop him off." Phyllis motioned to the baby, but didn't look at him. She opened her door, wiggling her keys once more and popping her eyebrows. "Come on, don't you wanna hear about my trip? I brought you a present. Come on, Cristina."

She was disgusted by the offer, and sad to part with the baby, but she had no desire to jump on the crazy boat with Phyllis. She walked around and strapped the baby into his car seat, shutting the door and stepping away without letting her gaze linger. When she came back to Phyllis, she saw disappointment in her friend's eyes.

"I'm tired," Cristina lied, forcing a smile. "Go have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

Phyllis twisted her lips, sighing. "Okay, okay, sourpuss. I'll send pictures. Sleep tight."

Just like that, she was gone, and the baby was gone with her. Cristina watched the car drive off, unable to secure one singular emotion for these events. She was somewhere between sorrow and anxiety. She wondered if Collin was going to a babysitter, or just going into a crib while his mother left the house. She wondered if Phyllis was aware of her indiscretions, or if she was genuinely unable to be a mother to Collin. She wondered if she should have feigned interest just to see if Collin was going to be alright.

Shane seemed to be locked in the same conflict. He crossed his arms over his chest, heaving an elongated sigh. "I said I didn't like this the day he was born."

Cristina pressed her hands to her temple. "I'm not in the mood for 'I told you so,' Shane."

He frowned. "Are you in the mood for a dead baby? Because that's where this is headed."

"Why don't you just…?" She started off ready to snap at him, to throw whatever she could at him to empty her clouded mind, but she couldn't do it. She looked away, letting the anxiety wash over her in waves. "Can you… help me with my paperwork? I want to go home as soon as possible."

"Cristina, we have to-"

"We don't have to do anything, Shane. Phyllis is an adult. We can't just… we can't just decide if she should have him. She's his mother. Now just, please, help me with the reports."

He was cold to her for the first time in a long time, walking off toward his car. He turned, shaking his head, and said, "Sorry, I'm off the clock. Call Phyllis to help you."

"Shane…"

He waved her off, loading up in his van and driving away. She was surprised he didn't try to run her down. Her crappy mood sank a little lower and she trudged back into the building, doing her best to avoid eye contact with her employees.