Thank you for the reviews. I loved hearing that you all enjoyed my last chapter. Things only get weirder from here, so brace yourselves, but for now, Owen gets some pressing news.

Owen arrived at the base and up to the receptionist counter at exactly 8:00, as instructed. Collins, or who he believed to be Collins, based on the rank indicated on his uniform, was waiting for him at the desk. "Dr. Hunt. Glad to finally meet you," Collins said, extending his hand.

Owen took his hand, giving him a firm handshake. "Major General Collins, I presume. How did you kn-"

"I've done my homework." He nodded politely. "Plus, the tower of paperwork in your hands gave you away."

Hunt chuckled. "Right. I'm guessing you don't have many people come in here with a two-foot high stack of staff files."

"Affirmative. Your situation is definitely unique, I'll admit." He gestured for the door to his office. "Why don't you take a seat; get that weight off your shoulders." He meant it literally, but Hunt couldn't help but think, Believe me, this is the lightest load I've carried in four days.

They sat across from each other with Collins behind his desk, and Owen directly opposite. Collins watched Owen intently for a moment, trying to feel him out. Owen knew this. He did the same thing upon meeting a new person. It was inherent in military personnel. Once he felt it was an appropriate amount of time, Hunt delved into his files. "So, uh, I brought everything you asked for: staff files, flight records dating back to 2008, and, oh," he paused, digging a flash drive out of his pocket. "The recordings from Dr. Sheehan." He set the flash drive on the counter next to the rest of his data, and looked up at Collins. "Dated to the second she left the message."

Collins looked at him curiously. He was sitting, leaned over his desk with his hands intertwined in a fist. "Why don't we start with your background."

Hunt sat back in his chair, and raised his eyebrow. "I thought you already did your homework."

Collins nodded, keeping eye contact with Owen. "I want to hear it from you."

Hunt shrugged. "Not much to tell. Born and raised in Seattle, went to Harvard for my M.D., Northwestern for my residency. Worked for a short period of time as a trauma surgeon in Maryland before enlisting in the U.S. Army in" he paused, blowing out a gust of air, trying to recall the year. "Mm, '97, I believe. Moved up the ranks, became a Major in '07, did my last tour in Iraq in '08, where my entire platoon was blown to shreds, somehow lived to tell the story." He had both eyebrows raised, nodding his head in acceptance. "Was honorably discharged then and there, took up a job offer as Head of Trauma at Seattle Grace, became Chief of Surgery last year, and uh, here we are." He nonchalantly extended his hands out to the side, as if to emphasize that he had finished.

Collins looked at him silently for a moment before looking down at his desk. "I understand you're married."

Hunt cleared his throat. "Affirmative."

"To one of the crash victims," he continued.

Hunt nodded. "Also an affirmative."

Collins raised his eyebrows. "You must be pretty worried."

Hunt laughed. "This is starting to sound an awful lot like an interrogation."

"So you're not worried?"

Hunt leaned forward in his chair, looking Collins straight in the eye. "You want me to be vulnerable? Fine, I'll be vulnerable. Cristina is my whole world, and I am worried sick that she's lying dead in a forest somewhere. I can't tell you the truly graphic thoughts that run through my head every second of every minute she's still missing. Am I worried? You bet your ass I'm worried. I haven't had a decent thought in four fucking days, I'm so worried. That a sufficient answer for you?" He said it not maliciously, but calmly and respectfully. Hunt was a pro at containing his passion among his superiors. Hunt was a passionate man, but he learned how to reel it in. He had done it for eleven years, and he hadn't forgotten now.

Collins nodded thoughtfully once more. "Let's dig into these files. Can you grab me the flight reports?"

Owen cleared his throat, handing Collins one file after another. "Here are the records from '08, '09, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013."

Collins looked through the files, taking what information he needed from each one before moving on to the next. He lingered on the last one, studying it carefully, before looking back up at Hunt, who was waiting patiently for him to finish. "Dr. Hunt, how much do you know about Bayview Aeronautics?"

Hunt furrowed his eyebrows. "Uh, not a lot, honestly. The hospital's been using them to provide our charter planes for years."

Collins nodded. "I see that. I also see that Seattle Grace renewed their contract with them earlier this year." Collins slid the contract toward Hunt. "Do you remember this?"

Hunt sighed, looking down at the contract. "I don't, actually. It was that time of year. All of the contracts were running out, and they all had to be renewed, but like I said, the hospital's been using that company for decades. Why would that be a problem now?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, Bayview doesn't make the planes. They are employed by charter plane companies who want Bayview to advertise and advocate for them to gain better business. When you go to Bayview, they give you a number of different options of companies to choose from, and you sign a contract with Bayview and the charter company of your choosing."

Hunt nodded. "Okay," he said, prompting Collins to continue.

Collins cleared his throat. "According to previous years' contracts, you all employed Zipair Charter Co. as your provider, but they sold out eight months ago to Skytrip Express, meaning Skytrip was now making your planes. Are we on the same page?"

"Affirmative," Hunt said, trying to remember hearing any of this before now.

"How much do you know about Skytrip, Dr. Hunt?" Hunt shook his head once more. "Well, according to our research, Skytrip has a reputation for building planes with mechanical defects."

Hunt perked up. "What?"

Collins retrieved some paperwork of his own then. "Here is an F.A.A. report from 2011 of a Skytrip charter plane whose right engine shut down directly after take-off. The plane was approximately 35 feet off the ground when it failed, so aside from minor bumps and bruises, everyone on-board was fine." He handed Hunt another. "Here's another report of a Skytrip plane that lost electrical power mid-flight. No electrical power means no gauges, monitors, or radars. The plane broke in half on ocean impact, killing fifteen on-board."

Hunt interrupted him then. "Why the hell would the hospital sign with these people?"

Collins shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but I can deduce that it probably seemed like the easiest switch, given the circumstances. Zipair was closing, Skytrip was taking over, they were cheaper, still associated with Bayview, and their logo looked pretty enough." He raised his eyebrows. "It was the path of least resistance."

"So this is how the hospital saves money? By jeopardizing its people? Who the hell approved this without checking the damn safety records?" Hunt had stood, and was leaning on Collins' desk.

Collins looked at Hunt sympathetically. "According to this," he slid another paper over to Owen. "It was you."

Owen grasped the paper tightly in his hands, plopping back into his chair, disbelieving. He was shocked at what he was reading.

Bayview Aeronautics Transition Authorization Form

He scanned through the document to find a signature. No.

Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital recognizes their choice to terminate Zipair Charter Co. as their primary charter plane provider. X Dr. Owen Hunt, M.D.

He searched through some more to find his name scrawled a second time. Oh my God.

Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital consents to the transfer from Zipair Charter Co. to Skytrip Express as their new primary charter plane provider. X Dr. Owen Hunt, M.D.

He looked back up at Collins. "I did this," he whispered. "I did this?"

Collins simply sighed. "This is what we know about the particular plane your staff was on. The Skytrip 510 has had a history of faulty engines from its manufacture start date in 2001. We think this is probably what happened in this particular instance as well. We lost contact with flight BVA8275 approximately 57 minutes into the trip, so we've deduced that they likely made it to Idaho before their engine failed, and landed somewhere in Payette County, west of French Corner. We have our people searching that area now." He paused, watching Owen read over the form again and again, shaking his head each time he did so. "Now, there's still the possibility that the flight was disrupted, and made an emergency landing, but that possibility is slim. The weather on that day, at that time, and in that location was perfectly acceptable, so no red flags there. We are looking into the pilot, specifically his disciplinary and medical records. You know, make sure he wasn't a drunk, or epileptic, or just incompetent. We think…" he cleared his throat. "We always investigate the possibility that the passengers could have…participated in-"

Hunt looked up from the form and chuckled. "Wait, you think my staff hijacked a plane?"

Collins was quick to respond. "I never said 'hijacked.' I just mean-"

Hunt's laughter saturated the room as Collins spoke. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I don't know why I'm laughing. It's not funny. None of this is funny. It's just," he started laughing again. "The thought of Lexie or Robbins trying to…" he looked up at Collins. "But y'know, anything's possible, I guess." He grabbed the transfer form with such force that it crumpled the right edge, and shook it in the air. "I signed this monstrosity, so anything is possible."

"Dr. Hunt, I get it. This is an unfathomable situation, but you gotta work with me. You gotta focus. Now, the reason I bring up the potential of passenger intervention is I need-"

"Staff records." Hunt nodded.

"Affirmative. Now if I could just-" Collins' phone vibrated against the wooden desk. He perked up upon looking at the screen. "Excuse me," he said, standing. He walked out of the room and rounded the corner, out of earshot. Hunt busied himself, organizing the staff files, still chuckling in amusement at the prospect of his staff trying to overtake and pilot a plane. Hunt had barely gotten started when Collins walked back into the room. "Hunt, get your shit, and follow me."

Hunt scrunched his brows in confusion. "I'm sorry, did I-"

"We found your people, Dr. Hunt. Alive."

Hunt slowly stood, dumbfounded. He had so many questions running through his head. "A-All of them?"

"All I know is they told me survivors. Plural."

Hunt composed himself and prepared himself for the reunion. "Let's go," he said, gathering his papers and walking out the door.

The next hours could be the best or worst of his life. He had to prepare himself for both possibilities. He took a deep breath as he shut the door of Collins' car.

I'm coming, sweetie. I'm coming.