In honor of my first review, I've decided to post another chapter early. I've truly put my heart and soul into this FanFic over the past six months, so I hope you all enjoy it. I haven't finished, but I have thirty chapters written thus far, so plenty to keep my readers interested while I continue to work on it.

As a huge shipper of Owen and Cristina, I was intrigued by the scenes following the crash in which Cristina was in a state of reactive psychosis, and Owen took care of her. It shocked me to find that there were few to no FanFics detailing these scenes, so I took this task on myself, and it has turned into a most bizarre experience and has really shown me the depths of my creativity (which I formerly thought to be quite shallow).

I have watched the scenes that detail the time during and after the plane crash many, many times to ensure that I stay as true to canon as possible throughout Cristina's crisis. My own input comes in during the parts that Grey's leaves out, and within these plot points, I try to create full scenes based on references Grey's might have mentioned but didn't elaborate on. When I cannot do that, I use some sort of convoluted, haphazard version of poetic license to create plot points. You'll know them when you read them.

Though for the duration of the crash and the approximate month that follows I follow canon, be warned, I do intend on breaking from canon in the interest of keeping Cristina and Owen together. I was hesitant to write that in fear of revealing too much, too soon, but I felt the need to clarify that to the point I have reached in my story, I have followed canon quite meticulously, but I won't forever. To sum up: If you're an Owen and Cristina fanatic like myself, you will like the diversion. If not, well, you've been warned.

In the interest of not making promises I can't keep, I'm not going to give you exact amounts of times I take between posting chapters, but you can expect no more than a week to pass between postings. I tend to get antsy with these things, especially when they're appreciated, so I will likely post more often than once a week.

If you've gotten to this point in my monologue, you are a bona fide trooper. My "author's notes" won't usually be this long, but I felt the need to get this all out there before I went any further.

Without further ado, chapter two.

The voice on the other end paused briefly, making Owen believe they might have lost signal. He was about to call back when she came over the phone again, "Dr. Sheehan is in surgery right now. I can-"

"Page her! Page her now! Tell her this is a matter of grave importance." Hunt's voice rose several decibels as his knuckles shown two shades whiter with his grip on the phone handle.

"Right away," Diane said after a moment.

It took what felt like a lifetime to get Dr. Sheehan on the phone, and she revealed what he already knew based on the messages. Their plane had never arrived, and she had called the airport and police, who were looking into it.

The next call Hunt made was to the airport. They offered little more information than Sheehan, telling him that the plane disappeared from the radar during their flight, but the operator did not realize it for nearly 20 minutes. Upon realizing the plane had vanished, the operator attempted to contact the pilot via radio, with no luck. He then tried to radio planes along the same flight path, considering the possibility that their display was faulty, and the flight might show up along another plane's radar. Their radars concluded the same: the plane was MIA. The air traffic controller announced the plane's disappearance, initiating a search party for flight BVA8275 from Seattle to Boise.

Hunt listened to this account with immense fear and dread, his heart pounding so loudly in his ear that he could barely focus on the airport representative's information. The Airport Authority listed off the members of the search party. Civilians and military personnel were involved, all performing the same duty, and all aiming for the same result. Pilots in other commercial airplanes were notified and searching from above in their own respective flights, while members of the US Air Force did the same. Civilians on the ground rallied their own search parties, and took point, searching for the missing aircraft where they believed it to have crashed, while again, military personnel did the same.

The mention of the Air Force prompted Owen to ask for the contact information for the General responsible for ordering the rescue mission. "Major General Thomas Collins" the Airport Authority had said. Hunt jotted down the name and number for the Major General, thanked the man for his time, and promptly hung up the phone. Hunt held his face in his hands for a moment and took sharp, deliberate breaths, trying to regulate his oxygen intake.

Once he had regained as much composure as possible, he leaped into action. He paged the two relevant attendings in the hospital, Webber and Torres, to relay the news. The 9-1-1 page should send them running, he thought. Having done that, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Cristina. Straight to voicemail. He grunted loudly in frustration and tried again. Straight to voicemail.

Webber entered the conference room first, assessing his surroundings. Realizing that no one was injured, he looked at Owen irritably. "A 9-1-1 page, Hunt?" He pointed a finger at Owen, shaking it at him. "You're the Chief of Surgery at this hospital. Now, I know you know better than to pa-"

"The plane went missing." Hunt said simply.

Richard lowered his finger and cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

Owen looked up at him from his place next to the conference table, teeth clamped shut, and repeated, "The plane. Went. Missing."

"Now hold on," Webber scrunched his eyebrows and shut his eyes, holding a hand up to stop him. "What are we talking about here."

Owen's heartbeat quickened as he pushed off the table and began pacing around the room. "The plane." His volume increased. "The plane that Meredith, Arizona, Mark, Lexie, and Cristina were on, went missing before reaching Boise." Webber lowered his hand and listened with grave intensity. "The air traffic controller announced it an hour after searching for it with his own resources, and the Airport Authority notified the US Air Force, who are searching for it as we speak." He grasped his hair, still pacing around the room. "I've tried Cristina's phone twice, and it goes straight to voicemail." He slammed his hands down on the table once again, staring intently at the wood grain embedded in the conference table.

Webber was silent for a moment before speaking up. "Have you tried the others?" Hunt shook his head. "Okay," he cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts. "You're not going to cause panic in this hospital. You're still Chief, Hunt. You have a responsibility to your employees and to your patients. Do you understand me? Who else did you page?"

"Torres," he replied, more composed.

"Good. Anyone else?"

"No."

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. When Callie gets here, I will let her know the situation. We will try calling the others and notify family members. You are to sit in this room and gather all of the information you can on this rescue. Call everyone involved."

"It may be a recovery effort at this point," Hunt said dejectedly.

"No, no. Don't start this now, Hunt. You have nothing to go off of. There's still plenty of explanation and plenty of hope. Don't give up on them so soon." Webber clasped him on the shoulder. "We will find them. All of them. Alive." Hunt looked into the former Chief's eyes, saw that he was sincere, nodded his head, then leaped into action once more.