Here's where it all falls apart. I want to ask everyone to stick with me and don't go running for the hills. I promise, this isn't it. This isn't all that's in store.
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For a fraction of a second, the surgeons standing over Kevin Flynn's body froze. In that instant, the monitor's strident wailing faded into the back of Mark's mind as if it was coming from somewhere deep underwater. Along with the rapid beeping, a voice entered his head, tiny but powerful and the most haunting thing he had ever heard.

It was fate: someone who had it out for him.

"Hope you enjoy this one," it said.

Then, with that, all of the doctors jumped into action, driven by the clamor of the heart monitor like some kind of tribal drum. "Talk to me, people," Mark instructed, his voice taking on an authoritative sense of urgency. "What's going on?"

"BP's at fifty-seven over twenty," Lexie reported, pushing the fear for Mark's friend's life away, eyes fixed on the monitor.

"His temp's rising. Fast," Alex added, wearing a grim expression beneath his mask. "Muscles are rigid, too."

"Malignant hyperthermia." Mark shook his head, sighing gruffly, the pounding in his chest failing to calm. "Okay, take him off; dantrolene, everyone," he barked. With expertise gained from countless drills, Alex, Lexie, the anesthesiologist, and a few scrub nurses immediately headed for the station that held several tiny vials of the drug and began drawing it up into syringes. Mark exhaled through his nose, tapping his foot nervously and commanding for another nurse to start him on pure oxygen.

They were poised to inject it when the monitor's harsh beeping picked up a new irregular and quick rhythm. "He's in V-tach," Lexie said. They quickly pushed the drug and hurried back to their positions.

"This is not good, it's moving too fast," Alex commented aside to her; she barely heard him. She was too busy focusing on Mark and the hardly-hidden panic written on his face. It was new and something she now wished she'd never seen. This was it, she thought. This was the catalyst. It terrified her.

"Damn it, paddles!" Mark demanded, grabbing them from the nurse. "Charge to three-hundred."

"Three-hundred."

"Clear." Everyone removed their hands from Kevin's body before Mark pressed the paddles to his chest. The electric shock caused his top half to jump with a dull wump sound. There was no change in his heart rhythm. Mark grimaced. "Charge again."

"Charging."

"Clear." The same movement, the same electric noise. This time, there was a change - not the one the doctors were looking for.

The beeping stopped and was replaced by a long, unceasing wail, the horrifying and grating note of a flatline. Lexie tried not to gasp as Mark tried to swallow but there was nothing there. "Asystole," said Alex, bluntly.

Automatically, Mark began compressions on Kevin's chest, keeping his eyes away from his friend's eerily peaceful face. This couldn't happen, not now. Not after what he said, what he meant with the words. His skin tingled and burned as he continued trying to revive Kevin. Once again, the drone of the heart monitor and the buzzing whispers and orders coming from the people around him dissipated into nothingness and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. He knew he was doing compressions more than adequately but he could hardly feel it, as if his arms were phantom limbs.

He had never been so terrified in surgery in his life. It was his friend's life on the line, a friend he had literally just fought with, and he didn't want to think of what the repercussions might but he couldn't help it.

Kevin had a very real chance at dying.

With that thought driving him, he could not stop compressions. His eyes were glued to the monitor, preoccupied with compressing Kevin's chest to keep him technically alive for as long as possible. "There's no change," Alex noted.

This fact sunk in and Mark grunted angrily. "I'm opening him up; scalpel," he declared in a short voice, holding out his hand.

"You're going to crack his chest?" Lexie asked softly, wide-eyed, having stepped back slightly from the table.

"Internal cardiac massage," Mark confirmed, creating a fast incision down Kevin's chest. It was always said to be the last resort, and a cold sweat suddenly broke out on his forehead. It didn't make sense at all, Kevin needing the last resort when all he came in for was a rhinoplasty.

"Open-heart?" Alex asked as if it wasn't a dumb question. "Do you want me to get-"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Karev? Incapable?" Mark snapped, eyes flashing, casting the scalpel aside and moving his hands to the front of Kevin's ribcage. "There's no time to get anyone else, he needs it now."

He took the saw and broke Kevin's sternum open and, for the first time, the sickening crack made Lexie cringe. It probably would have done the same to Mark if he wasn't so deafly focused and intent on bringing his friend back. His gloved hands dove into Kevin's chest cavity, and he cradled the motionless heart in his hand. Pushing the feelings of dread and panic at the fact that he was actually physically touching his friend's heart down and out of the way, he began compressing it directly. He could feel the heat of it – god, it was still hot – through the thin material of his glove. For an instant, it made him sick to his stomach.

He continued massaging Kevin's heart for a few desperate moments, and the rest of the O.R. staff watched him with bated breath and hammering pulses. Their gazes flickered between him, Kevin's open chest, and the heart monitor. Lexie's eyes lingered on Mark the longest, watching, distraught, his expression of distressed concentration. The pain reflected in them, being revealed little by little, was all but tearing her own chest apart.

It was only a short time later when every doctor in the O.R., except Mark, realized that his attempts were futile. The feeling of losing a patient was heavy in their chests, but none of them wanted to make Mark stop. His face was steel, unchanging, lines having formed on his forehead. His hand was still deep in Kevin's chest, still moving in a useless attempt to resuscitate him. Kevin was just too far gone now.

Alex finally worked up the courage and said, gently, "Dr. Sloan." Mark didn't respond; he kept going, watching the monitor for any tiny glimmer of a reaction. There was none. "Dr. Sloan!" he called more forcefully and Mark's eyes snapped to him, wide and crazed above his mask. He stopped the cardiac massage, and the asystole persisted – a piercing, angry, yellow note.

"There's still no change," Alex told him, shaking his head softly. Mark's breathing became very shallow, then; the tiny puffs of air he was taking did nothing to settle the sudden burning in his lungs. It felt like somebody was jabbing their fist into his side, punching, punching, punching, and the tearing ache moved like a shockwave through his whole body.

He scanned his team, and most of them averted their eyes to look at the floor or at their hands. The last one in the row – Lexie – did not. She held his gaze, hazel eyes morphing into the saddest, most sympathetic expression he had ever seen. It was the first time he realized what had to be done; what little breath he had left fled. Lexie squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, exhaling forcefully through her nose.

The world moved too slowly as he looked at Kevin's face. He saw his friend; saw the eyes that would never again shine during the telling of a dirty joke, the eyebrows that would never again rise to check out a woman, the mouth that would never grin lecherously or call him by his nickname ever again. Mark would never hear another one of his recounts of an escape from a one-night stand. He would never be able to join him in reveling in a memory from football camp again.

So much that he had taken for granted had fled in a matter of seven minutes.

He felt sick again.

There was blood all over his gloves, Kevin's blood, and he needed to take them off. His right hand twitched. Somehow, he summoned the strength and air to speak. "Someone call it." It was dark and grave, accompanied by a pained stare. Nobody responded. They could only stare back at him, speechless. His jaw tightened. "Damn it, somebody call it." His voice cracked but he recovered quickly.

The silence was a heavy blanket over the group of surgeons. Alex obeyed, barely above a whisper. "Time of death, thirteen thirty-eight."

With that, Mark turned on his heel and tore out of the O.R., tearing off his gloves, smock, and mask as he went. After hardly a second, Lexie followed him, breaking away from the throng that was still gathered solemnly around the operating table. Nobody even gave her a second look.

She scrubbed out and caught up with Mark as he was about to storm out of the O.R. hallway, having quickly scrubbed out in a desperate need to get away from that room as quickly as possible. She whispered his name and reached for his hand, but he jerked it away. "Mark," she said, again, voice laden with sad empathy. She tried again at getting his hand and succeeded, forcing him to stop. When he turned, his face showed so much raw hurt that it shocked her into a second of blank speechlessness.

She recovered before he could break away. She held his face in her hands, even though he tried to pull away, and kissed him – small, chaste, repetitive kisses that he did not return – and stroked his cheeks tenderly. "Oh, Mark," she murmured croakily, feeling his whole body tense against the contact. Tears began to prick at her eyes and she tried to ignore them. She hurt for him, so much. "Tell me what I can do." She kissed him again, and he tried to lean away, unwilling. "Please, Mark, tell me what I can do to help you," she begged, on the verge of desperation.

When she tried to press her lips to him again he recoiled for good, pushing her away by the shoulders. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened at him. He spoke as if he really did not want to. "I just need…" he said in a thick voice, refraining from making eye contact. "I need you to leave me alone for now." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I need to be away from here, this room, everything." He put his hand over his eyes, biting his lower lip in frustration. "Please. I just want to be alone."

He didn't wait for an answer before he slipped out of her grip and away from her. She watched as he walked into the hallway, trailing him but not too closely, and saw him quickly duck into an on-call room. He closed the door behind him.

The definitive click of the lock was impossibly loud. It was the worst noise she had heard yet.

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Mark did not know how much time passed while he was sitting in the on-call room. It could have been minutes, hours, or even an entire shift. But the concept of time did not matter to him as he sat on the bed, staring at the wall. The lights were on, dim and bare. He could see the imperfections and scuff marks on its white surface. He tried to keep the lights off when he first came into the room, but when he just kept seeing Kevin's face in the darkness, he turned them on.

He had been sitting for so long in the same position – slouched, hands resting in his lap - that he couldn't feel his body anymore. He felt weightless, like everything that happened was just a dream that he would wake up from in a matter of time. His pupils were fixed on a single spot, unmoving, hardly even blinking. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

Even though his body had gone numb, he could not stop feeling. His mind was the only part of him that seemed to be working, and working overtime. Kevin was still there, in his head. His was a presence that would not be erased, regardless of the amount of time passed. There were too many good times, too many happy memories for him to be forgotten. Even the bad times didn't seem so bad now.

But Kevin did not exist in the real world anymore. How that could happen, could actually be, baffled Mark. It didn't make one bit of sense. And the fact that his life had been in Mark's hands, his teammate's hands? He let Kevin die. He let Kevin down. He couldn't even think about it.

Especially now, today. Especially because he had convinced himself that he hated Kevin.

He took a spastic breath and he pain that accompanied it told him that he hadn't taken one for a while.

Hated him. And now, he was gone. A bitter taste entered Mark's mouth, and he couldn't bring himself to swallow it away.

He didn't turn to look when somebody entered the room, he was frozen in place. The only reason he knew that someone had come in was the very brief leak of brighter hallway light into the small room. Whoever it was shut the door behind them. His skin crawled at the human presence as they took a few tentative steps toward him.

It was probably Lexie, he thought. He felt horrible for it, but he still wasn't ready to face her. Or anyone, for that matter. He didn't want anyone's pity.

But then, the person spoke. "Mark." The voice was feminine, for sure. "God, Mark, I'm so sorry." But it wasn't the bubbly mezzo he had been expecting - it was a melodic alto, another that he was familiar with.

It was Callie. He didn't have to look to know that it was her, so he didn't. Even though he didn't want to move his eyes, she could still see him. And, at a single glance, her heart broke for her friend. His face was pale, and it looked like he hadn't slept in a week, even though he had been awake for less than twelve hours.

Word had already traveled like wildfire around the hospital, and the autopsy had been done not long ago. She had expected Lexie to be in the room, comforting him. So, when Callie passed a frightened-looking Lexie in the hallway not long ago, she had been very confused. Even if he didn't want it, Lexie should have been there for him. If Lexie wasn't, Callie decided, she was. She was his good friend, after all.

Mark sighed huffily and looked like he was about to tell her to get out, so Callie cut him off. "Karev told me the results of the autopsy. He couldn't find you or Lexie, so he asked me to deliver the news." Mark's jaw clenched visibly and she knew that she was headed into sensitive territory, but she also knew that he had to hear this. She sat down beside him, and he edged away from her.

"Callie," he warned, his voice a gravelly rumble from a long period of inactivity. She held up a hand to quiet his protest. He set his jaw and went back to glowering at the wall. Callie regarded him with a soft, sympathetic pout.

"You had no way of knowing about his condition," she offered gently. Mark wished he could go voluntarily deaf. He did not want to hear this, to be reminded. "It was nothing you did, Mark. It wasn't your fault at all." Her tone was reassuring, but Mark wasn't buying it. Callie shook her head. She needed to get this through to him. She was frustrated, since she usually knew the right things to say to him. About this, though, she was at a loss. What could she possibly say to him in this situation?

The truth.

"No matter what you did, he couldn't have come back from the MH." She lowered her eyes, hating to be the bearer of heartbreaking news. "He had the beginnings of heart disease, Mark. Badly. His heart was weak, even though he seemed strong. Really weak."

Mark swallowed. He should have guessed. Kevin must have taken up smoking, why didn't he see that? He should have tested him more, or something. But, no, since Kevin was his friend, he cleared him. Mark felt like an idiot, a careless fool.

"That's why everything happened so quickly," Callie told him, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder. He shrank beneath it, still refusing to look at her. "You had no control over that. But you did everything you could. Everything you could." She punctuated the last three words. "And I think he would have appreciated it, Mark. Even though you couldn't save him."

Mark said nothing. He just kept staring at the wall. Callie tried not to laugh in amazement. "God, if it was me in your situation, I wouldn't even be able to function." She realized that was probably the opposite of comforting. More compassionately, then. "You're allowed to say something, or cry, Mark. Frankly, it's scaring me that you're not. So, go ahead."

She waited. He remained stubbornly silent. "Come on," she prodded. "Go ahead."

Something inside of him shifted – a move from depressed brooding to anger. His face tingled with heat and he clenched his fists. He finally turned to look at Callie, with glaring eyes and "get out" poised on his lips.

But, then, he saw her. He saw Callie.

Another shift came on just as quickly as the one before. This time, from anger to incredulity. He took in kind, sparkling brown eyes, full lips, flowing dark hair, and bronze skin. He stared at her, failing to stop his mouth from falling open.

She was there for him. Nobody else, not Lexie. Her. She was there, sitting with him in the on-call room. A pillar of strength, however much unwanted.

And she was beautiful. Not just hot or sexy, like he had always revered her as before. His skin felt like it was in flames.

Was it there for the first time, or was it just the first time he had seen it? Something he hadn't noticed, beneath the surface. Had he just been missing it for all this time? Had he been missing her for all this time? He felt himself breathing. The answer seemed to be so obvious in his mind, no matter how muddled.

Callie nervously raised a dark eyebrow at the sudden darkened look in his eye. Somehow, it wasn't him anymore. They were intent on her, yet slightly unfocused at the same time. "Mark?" she uttered, confused, instinctively leaning away from his heavy gaze.

She had been there for him, by him, through everything. Now was no different. It amazed him. How could he have missed it? Callie was always there. It was her, all along. His system was flooded by a mixture of emotions, confusion and awe and pain and disbelief. He moved on impulse, barely in control of his actions.

"Callie," he whispered, drawing out her name on a breath. He shifted to face her more properly, cupping one of her cheeks in his hand. His fingertips entwined in her dark wavy locks. Callie's breath hitched. Their faces were close together, close enough for her to see the specks of dark blue dispersed throughout the lighter color of his iris. She could see that he was unhinged, suddenly delirious. He was about to make a bad decision.

No sooner had that revelation hit her than he was kissing her.

Callie shut her lips tightly against his advance, trying to squirm out of his grip. He was relentless, though, leaning forward to make up for the distance that she moved away. She managed to stop him by holding his face and firmly prying him off of her. "Mark," she said, raising her eyebrows at him, eyes frantic, laughing even though nothing was even close to funny, "you really don't want to do this. I know you're hurting, but still, what about Lexie, Mark, or what about Arizona? We can't do this." She shook her head, keeping her deep brown eyes locked on his blue ones. His were red-rimmed and wan, about to give in. The feelings had caught up to him.

"Please, Callie," he croaked after a lingering silence. "Please." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need this."

What Callie saw when she looked at Mark, then, amazed her just as much as what he had seen looking at her. He was broken. He wasn't the man she knew. He had been trying so hard not to break down, but here he was, doing it in front of her. And if she refused him this, it could break him even more.

She was treading in dangerous waters, walking on a tightrope line. Fall one way, devastate Mark and maybe lose him forever. Fall the other way, betray Arizona and maybe lose her forever. She bit her lip and tried not to be distracted by Mark's pained expression as she thought it out as coherently as she could. Frustration overcame her again; in the past, the decision would have been so much easier. Everything had changed who she was.

Arizona was wonderful. Callie wanted to be with her, wanted the relationship they were in. But, Mark was Mark. Mark was her best friend. She couldn't possibly do anything to hurt him. Two separate parts of her were going in two different directions, tearing her apart.

But she knew what she had to do.

When she very reluctantly closed her eyes and let him continue to kiss her, she was mostly feeling guilty. But, then again, it wasn't the first time this had happened. She shuddered at the thought of it. For a second or two, she hated how familiar Mark's tongue felt inside of her mouth as he slowly opened his mouth against hers.

Mark didn't know what he was feeling. Pain, torture, or a desperate need for release might have described it. He was in a place where guilt did not exist, a dark corner where no light of reason was reaching. He thought he wanted this, thought he needed it.

He pulled his scrub shirt over his head, then, and Callie had half a mind to stop him. But, she didn't. This was how he coped, she had seen it before. It scared her, but she couldn't stop it now. His hands fell to her shirt, and she let him remove it before his lips were on hers again. He held her by the waist, and she jumped at the feeling of cold hands on her warm skin.

He slowly pushed her back onto the bed, moving over her, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. Callie looped her arms around his neck, coming to terms with the fact that she was kissing him back. She hooked a leg around his waist, but he didn't smirk like he normally would have if she had done that. If she knew before that this man wasn't Mark, she was positive now. But, she didn't particularly mind. She understood. She would be whoever he needed her to be. She would help him in whatever way she could, even if it came back to hurt them later. But maybe this time around, things would turn out better. Maybe this time, nothing would fall apart because of what she was about to do.

So, she kept kissing him back. His hands roamed, looking for something; he didn't know what it was.

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Lexie had been consciously avoiding the on-call room where Mark was. For a little while, right after he went in, she had paced outside of it, waiting for any indication of him wanting somebody to be with him. When nothing came, heart breaking, she fled.

She needed to be away from there. She needed to distract herself until he came out.

She went back to the interns' locker room. She ate a bag of potato chips, and then brushed her teeth. After that, she took a shower and brushed her teeth again. That was basically all she could do in the locker room, so she took her racing heart and nervous stomach elsewhere.

She picked up a stack of charts that still needed to be done and brought them with her into a supply closet. It was peaceful in there, and she would forget about everything for short periods of time as she was charting, forget everything except the scratching of her pen against paper. For once, she damned her quick work, as she finished each of the charts in what seemed like record time.

She sat and stared for a while, memorizing the instructions on the plastic packages that contained the bedpans. Roll patient on side, place bedpan underneath with highest part in front, roll patient back. She wished it was more intricate than that.

Also during the sitting-and-staring phase, Lexie began graphing hyperbolas in her head. She was in the middle of a particularly nasty equation when a thought struck her.

She should be in that on-call room with Mark. It didn't matter if he wanted her there with him or not. He was wounded, and needed help. She could help him; she felt strongly about him and hated to see him so distraught. She could help him, she could comfort him. She wanted to, so badly. So, even though she knew he would reject her at first, she made the decision to go to him.

She stood up and exited the closet, heart hammering even more rapidly than before. She breathed. In and out, regular and deep. It would be alright. Mark would be okay, eventually, and he would thank her for it later.

She kept breathing during the long, nerve-wracking, shaking-kneed walk to the on-call room door.

She was still breathing, still able to breathe, when she grasped the handle of the door. The metal was cold against her hand.

The thing that made her stop breathing? Opening the door and discovering Mark and Callie half-naked, on the bed, and in the midst of a fiery kiss.