-1End of the World Party

Christopher - seven years old with tear-stained cheeks and a shallow gash across his cheek - is found in a custodial closet on the second floor. The janitor almost has a heart attack when something behind a cluster of mops moves, but he quickly recovers and guides the little boy to the waiting room.

Luckily for everyone, George is still there, inquiring after Christopher and trying to shove the mental image of Izzie's bloodied body out of his head. "Have you seen a little kid, seven years old, answers to Christopher?" he asks, over and over with the same results. No one can bring themselves to care about his missing person when they're all waiting on theirs.

"Is this who you're looking for?" the janitor - Max, a friendly older man who sometimes does magic tricks in the children's wing - interrupts, tapping George's shoulder. The boy he is piggy-backing peers shyly around Max's head, fitting the description perfectly.

George nearly faints, he is so filled with relief. "You're Christopher?" he says, just to be on the safe side, knowing that he's kept his promise.

The boy nods, a small smile working its way across his lips as he lifts a finger to his cut. "I got hurt," he tells George, the same story he has already given Max on the elevator ride. "And then I got lost. Do you know where my mom is?"

There can be no better moment than this, George realizes. It's strange how easily he has let himself forget that he's a doctor, that he has the power to heal broken things. In the wake of his father's disease, he'd been struck with a feeling of helplessness so big and dark that he'd thought it would never leave him. Now, as he speaks, he watches Christopher's face light up and he feels himself standing a little taller.

"I know exactly where your mom is, She's been worried about you. We all have. Let's get you a BandAid, okay?" he proposes, as Max shifts Christopher to the floor and the kid automatically steps toward George, trusting him. "And then we'll go see your mom. Hey, Max, thank you."

Max shakes his head, his blue eyes twinkling with a kindness that reminds George of his dad. "Hey, anybody would have done the same. But you're the one who can fix him."

"Yeah." He hasn't believed it in a while, but it just may be true. "I guess I am."

The sound of his beeper going off startles all of them.

XXX

"Cristina." Alex rushes up, almost knocks the woman over. "Hey, Yang, snap out of it. I'm looking for Izzie."

She hardly gives him the time of day. "Quiet. Meredith's in there."

Confused, impatient, Alex heaves a sigh and barely resists rolling his eyes. "Well, have either of you seen Izzie? Cristina, it's important, she's hurt. She could -"

"She's not going to die," Cristina interrupts, forcefully, and it's then that he realizes her eyes haven't moved from the closed door of Trauma 1. She looks wounded enough to earn a place on his casualty board. "She can't, okay, because I haven't even told her -"

"Cristina." As he lifts his hands to take her shoulders, he realizes he's never touched her before. He's held Izzie, hugged Meredith, hell, he's even slung an arm around George's shoulders a time or two. But Cristina has always seemed so solid, so ... detached from the traumas that surround them daily. He's almost afraid to offer her any comfort now, scared that she might shatter at his fingertips. "Slow down. What happened to Meredith?"

"She drowned." Her voice is as monotonous as ever. If he weren't staring into her glassy, unfocused eyes, he wouldn't believe she was even affected. Clearing her throat, Cristina continues, "She must have lost her balance, and she went into the water at the ferry crash site, and no one knows how long she was under. There's a possibility of brain damage, physical impairment, or ... Or."

He's a doctor, too. He doesn't need it spelled out for him. As understanding dawns, Alex draws her closer. "Or she might not wake up at all," he finishes, saying the words she can't. He always thought he'd feel smug when he found something Cristina couldn't handle. He never saw this coming.

Cristina stiffens - whether because of the truth in his words or his arms around her, he can't tell. But he doesn't let go. He's known women like her before - his mother was the same way, refusing to let anyone bear witness to her weaker moments.

"Cristina," Alex says, low and soothing, the tone someone takes when approaching a wild animal that's been injured. "That's not going to happen. Meredith is stronger than most people give her credit for. You, of all people, know that. She's going to wake up."

She doesn't respond. For a minute, Alex thinks she may have slipped past the normal boundaries of shock, starts to worry that for all his triumphs today, there is nothing he do to help her.

And then he feels it, her fingers clutching at his scrubs, her arms tightening around his waist ... and a tear, hot and wet, seeping into the material. She doesn't break down, doesn't sob in his arms or break into hysterics, but it's enough. She holds on. And for once, he doesn't let go.

XXX

"You paged?"

Callie doesn't want to look up. There have been times - especially lately, she can admit that, at least to herself - when meeting George's overeager eyes has caused a similar twitch. But it's nothing compared to the dread she feels right now, up to her elbows in his best friend's blood.

"George," she begins, but it's too late. He's already looked down, recognized the body on the gurney for the same girl who bakes him cupcakes when he loses a patient and uses his toothbrush when she misplaces her own.

"Oh, my God." He surprises her by stepping forward. Even she had stumbled back a step when she came across Izzie's broken arm and crushed ribs. But George doesn't hesitate to come close and grab his friend's uninjured hand. "What happened?"

Callie reaches for his shoulder to brace him. "There was an explosion at the site, George. A couple of mechanics brought her in, they said she was trying to save their friend. She got ... she got pinned under a car."

He shrugs her hand off him, puts a foot of space between them. His eyes don't leave the gurney. "How bad is it?"

"It's ..." She falls quiet. How is it that she is always charged with giving him the worst news? She's his wife, damn it, she should be the one he goes to for comfort, not the one who feeds him lines such as "not very promising" and "the odds are slim, but they exist".

"Callie." He's still not looking at her. It makes her feel relieved, one more thing she'll try not to think about later. "How bad. Is it?"

"It's ... pretty bad," she confesses. It's like watching a heart break, seeing the understanding flickering through his eyes. "But I'll see what I can do."

"I'm staying." He says it like a challenge, like he expects her to kick him out. Since when did the sweet, silly guy she met, turned into this man who growls and glares?

"Okay," Callie says, because she doesn't want to be the bad guy anymore, and then she gets to work.

XXX

Bailey arrives back at Seattle Grace just in time for all hell to break loose - again. She's lost track of how many tragedies she's seen in her career, but she's pretty sure today's numbers might beat the total.

The first sign of distress is that Addison is cradling Derek, whose face is hidden but shoulders are shaking in the tell-tale manner of heart-wrenching sobs. Nearby, Alex and Cristina are embracing, eerily still. At the other end of the hall, George appears, his stagger resembling a soldier returning from war.

"O'Malley," Bailey calls out sharply, snapping the boy to attention. "What happened to you?"

"I'm fine," he says, waving her off. "I was with Izzie."

Alex's head snaps up. "You found her?"

"She was in surgery," he reports, drained from the experience. Izzie may have been unconscious throughout, but he supervised every stitch, every fracture being realigned, and he wants to curl up in bed and pretend it never happened. "She got caught in the explosion. She's going to pull through. She's resting."

A collective sigh of relief goes through the hall.

Then the door they're all waiting in front of clicks open.

Bailey catches a glimpse of Burke, his hand resting on Richard's shoulder as the Chief hangs his head. Her heart rises to her throat as Mark, of all people, steps out to confront them.

"I have good news and bad news," he announces. She gives him credit for the fact that he looks genuinely sorry, that for once he's not enjoying being in a position of power. "The good news is, they were able to bring her back from flat lining. They also managed to raise and stabilize her body temp, and I just finished stitching the laceration."

They wait, breath baited, but he doesn't continue.

"But?" Bailey finally prompts, losing patience.

Mark's eyes dart over to Derek, his once-best friend, then away again. He looks pained. "But ..."

"Just say it." This from Derek, who is standing up now, challenging the man who - in some crazy, almost intangible way - is responsible for sending him to Seattle, to Meredith. "Say it."

"She's in a comatose state. She may not wake up." Mark lifts his hands in the universal gesture for helplessness. "I'm sorry."