A/N: Here is chapter 5. Sad stuff is tough to write, I have to say. But this is the first chapter of this story in a while that I have actually felt pretty good about. It came together easier than some others. Maybe its a little sentimental, but what the hey? However, I have a non-story related question for any other fic writers reading this story: Do any of you have trouble with transferring your story document to the doc reader? When I do, it always randomly leaves out a few words. I proof read in my original documents, and so sometimes it takes me a while to realize that words get left out in the doc reader, and so they get published that way. Any one have any tricks to avoid this? Thanks a lot. And thank you for reading too. Please do let me know what you think about any aspect of the story.

It's such a thin line. The line between life and death. The world keeps on turning when someone dies. Of course it does. But you have to wonder whether that's only possible because the line is so thin. Even the body seems to miss the memo about dying sometimes. Nails and hair appear to grow. Nerves and reflexes kind of work for a while. Relaxing and stiffening muscles have even been known to produce sound. Moans, groans. Without science, medicine, and knowledge we might mistake these responses as signs of life. Really, they are only parts of dying. Sometimes people look like they are asleep. At peace. Maybe it's supposed to make things easier somehow. So the world can on keep turning. So the living have a second to process. Maybe it's just a mystery of death. You have to wonder whether the line is so thin from the dead person's perspective too. It doesn't seem like it would be easy to do. Dying. Your body functions are designed to keep you alive. Sometimes things get so damaged they can't do that. When that happens? What's next? J.M. Barrie makes Peter Pan say that 'to die will be an awfully big adventure'. We can only hope so, because otherwise it's nothing more than crossing over that terribly arbitrary thin line. And then the line doesn't make things easier for anybody. It's just terrifying.

Owen frowned and ran a weary hand across his face as the sunlight of early morning crept in through the hotel blinds. Lexie and Mark. Dead and gone. It wasn't fair. He'd sent them on what he thought was a simple chance to help some patients, and another hospital. He'd booked the charter flight himself, which his secretary would normally have done. But he'd made sure to do it himself because he'd been close to this group. Because Cristina was in this group. Owen would never have dreamed that it was possible he was sending them to their deaths.

He watched as Sofia twisted a little in her sleep. She was completely unaware of how drastically her little life had just changed. Her father had died. He'd never teach her to tie her shoes or ride a bike. He'd never scare the crap out of her first boyfriend. He'd never walk her down the aisle. Things had changed forever for her living parents too. Robbins had had to have an amputation. Her leg was too damaged to salvage. And so, Owen supposed, it didn't look like Arizona would be the one to teach her daughter to ride a bike either,

Gulping he looked from one little girl to the other, tilting his head to one side. Zola slept on too, somewhat more peacefully than her little friend. She'd been the crankier of the two. Not that things in her life were any less altered. She'd lost her aunt, her father's hand might never be the same, and her mom had had surgery for a brain bleed, and had yet to fully wake up after surgery. It was a terrible day for both of them, and they didn't even know.

Standing up, Owen quietly went about making a crappy cup of hotel room coffee. It was hard for him. To take care of the little girls like this. It was hard. There was no way to stop his mind from contemplating what his own child would have been like. They'd have been a few months old by now. If Cristina hadn't gotten the abortion. They'd be alive too. He was still glad that his wife had survived the plane, but thinking about the child that they could have had was impossibly painful. So, childminding was hard for Owen.

At the same time, he knew it was something he had to do. Cristina was stable, and had fallen asleep as soon as Mer had been brought into their shared room. She didn't need him. Callie was devastated and wanted to be with her wife and Mark, and Alex had seemed to have made it his mission to look after them. And instinctively, Owen knew Kepner was the one who had to look after Avery, even though she'd been the de facto babysitter through this whole ordeal. She certainly could do a better job with Jackson than he would. They were friends. It was hard, dealing with the babies, but he couldn't skirt his responsibility to his people.

Taking a long swig of the bitter coffee, Owen could hear the sounds of one of the girls waking up. He moved over to the portacrib and tilted his head to one side, smiling sweetly at the tiny pair of eyes that met his.

"Good morning Sofia," he said, in a low whisper, as he leaned down and gathered the little girl in his arms. "I wish I could tell you that today was a good day...I wish I could..."

Sofia blinked and yawned looking around the room expectantly. Probably wondering where her mothers were. Or Mark. Today would not be the day that it all hit her. Today Sofia's tears wouldn't fall out of grief. She would cry. She'd cry because she was hungry, tired, bored, or sleepy. Not because her father was dead. But someday, she would grow to understand the significance of this day. And someday she would cry about it. The most he could do was be with her, today, and maybe the day she knew to cry.

Owen sighed and placed a tiny peck on top of her messy tangle of dark hair. He couldn't do anything but take good care of the children right now. He couldn't change the past.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Alex didn't really understand the need to see people after they've died. He'd never understood the whole 'open casket' thing. What an impulse. Creepy. If the person is dead, then they are gone. Wherever gone really goes. Nothing can change it. He never understood the need to actually see the freakin' corpse. Because that's all it was. A dead corpse. Not the person you knew and loved or whatever. They sure as hell aren't in their body anymore.

But Torres and Avery both wanted to see Sloan. Before the nuns moved him or whatever. Avery had been pissed and fit to cause a scene if they were denied, but no one had minded. Batty old ladies were actually pretty nice to all of them, really. Alex figured it wasn't everyday the hospital got an interesting trauma like a plane crash. This was Spokane after all. Or they were just that nice. What else did they have going for them really? Nuns.

So, he stood at the doorway with Kepner while Torres went in and sat at Mark's bedside. Avery was only a few steps behind her and he walked around to the other side. April exchanged a tearful glance with Alex and he shrugged. They cautiously ventured into the room. They felt out of place. For the very first time in this whole mess, he dared to consider that he was lucky. Because Robbins wasn't dead. Neither was Mer. Or Cristina. His mentor had survived. So had his best friends. The same couldn't be said for Jackson and Callie. The plastics posse was no more. Sofia was fatherless. It sucked.

Torres was a mess. She sobbed, holding her head in her hands. Alex didn't really know how to handle weeping chicks, so he just did what he thought was right. It couldn't hurt. Nothing could hurt worse than this. He slid into a chair next to Callie's and wrapped his arms around her shoulders allowing her to cry into her chest.

"Oh, Mark...I can't believe-I can't..." Callie stuttered, her voice fading into a whimper. "It's Mark..."

"I know."

It was all he could freakin' say.

Jackson looked like he was going to be sick as sat there slumped in his chair. Kepner sat down next to him, offering her open palmed hand on the bed. Avery blinked rapidly and sniffed, starting to shake his head. He curled his hands into fists and laid his face on the bed, visibly shaking. Alex figured he was trying not to cry. Dudes always did that. Well, most guys anyway. He was trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check himself, and he hadn't even been that close to Sloan. Alex squeezed Torres's shoulder as April leaned forward and started to rub Jackson's back.

That must have done the trick because the next moment, Avery was balling like a bitch baby. And where before, Alex might have ridiculed him for it or judged or whatever...Boo-hoo pretty boy and all that. But the thing was, Alex knew he'd be even worse if it was Robbins in this bed. It had come so close to happening that now he understood. He figured, if you could let it all out, it was probably better.

And that's what it was like for Alex didn't know how long. Could have been minutes, could have been lifetime. Torres and Avery crying. Everyone sitting with their pain. He just kept holding on to Callie. He rocked a little from side to side, thinking about his memories of Sloan all through the years. He'd been a good guy, underneath it all. No matter what anyone said. He was good at heart. He'd kept Alex alive during the shooting. He'd owed Sloan for that. Alex was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely registered a quiet murmured conversation between Jackson and April. He only noticed, when Callie straightened up a little to listen.

"I..." Jackson held a fist to his mouth, as April squeezed his arm. "I never told him thank you. He was such a good mentor. He always had my back...he helped me so much and-I never told him..."

Callie sniffed and took a deep shuddering breath, "He was such a good Dad...I...he was always there for me...even when he shouldn't have been. And what did I do? Make fun of him...tease him about Julia, Lexie...all of it. But he was such a good father. We never said- "

Alex let his eyes glide over the figure in the bed, focusing instead on the knitted blue hospital blanket that covered Mark Sloan as he slowly lifted his gaze to April's on the other side of the bed. She was looking looking at the body, as she lay next to Jackson, half on the edge of the bed. She continued to rub his back, and glanced sadly to Alex's gaze before returning to look at Mark. Torres grabbed one of his hands and gripped it tightly. It was weird. Alex still didn't really understand the whole need to see a dead person. He didn't.

"He doesn't hurt anymore," Avery said quietly. "He looks peaceful..."

"He does," Kepner agreed, her voice wavering slightly, barely above a whisper.

Callie's lip quivered and she nodded. Jackson seemed to be getting a better handle on himself, because he sat up from the bed and whiped his eyes. Alex swallowed and shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, still unwilling to look at the body of the man he knew. He was determined to look anywhere but the bed. The blankets, his hands, Callie's hands, Kepner, his shoes. Anything but Mark. Because, it was stupid. It was just a body. Mark Sloan was gone. And sitting here with his lifeless shell didn't mean a damn thing to him. It didn't. He was only here because of Avery and Torres.

Behind him, Alex heard a knock at the door before it quietly swung open. A few orderlies and a nun all slipped into the room, and he could feel Callie stiffen.

"No!" she whispered, growing in intensity. "No. No. No."

"I'm sorry," the nun said sympathetically. "But you'll have to finish saying your goodbyes; we need the room...you can take one more moment..."

"No..." Callie whispered in defeat.

Carefully, Alex helped Torres shuffle unsteadily to her feet. He kept a hand on her elbow and an arm wrapped around her waist. They'd come. They'd seen. They'd wept. Time to get out. More moments would only lead to more pain. But Callie and Jackson seemed reluctant to leave.

"Maybe..." April spoke softly again, still resting her arms on Jackson's shoulders as he stood up too. "Maybe, you should tell him now. All those things you never said...say them now."

Of all the half brained, asinine, crazy, Jesus Freak type things to say. What the hell good would it do any of them to say that crap to Mark now? After he was dead? Big freaking deal. It was a suggestion as strange as wanting to see a dead person, and Alex didn't buy it. He tried not to glare but April must have sensed his skepticism because she ducked her head and bit her lip.

A lot of freakin' good it would do Sloan. Dead, he could never hear anything anyone said.

"Uh," Kepner kept talking, surprise surprise, only this time, the way she was leaning forward and everything, Alex was damned if April wasn't addressing the body. "Um...Dr. Sloan, I...you...were never afraid to be yourself...even when it wasn't e-easy...I'm never going to forget that. And I'll try to take a lesson from it."

She swallowed and gave a quick little nod, taking a step back from the bed and looking at the rest of them with this freakin' wide eyed intensity. What crap. He was about to say something to call it out when Avery cleared his throat and began to speak.

"You always let me stand on my own merits...even when I didn't have them. You were...Damn it!" Jackson paused, and closed his eyes. "You saw me for more than just my name. And you gave me some of the best advice I've ever had. So...th-thank you."

Avery curled his fingers and slid his hand across the bed to brush Sloan's knuckles. One final fist pump.

They were screwing, Alex told himself. They were screwing, so of course Avery would go along with Kepner's weird little ritual. Because even in a time like this, it was worth saying on a girl's good side right? If there was any possibility of more screwing. That had to be it. Avery was just covering his bases. That was all. He looked at his shoes and went to guide Callie away from the bed to the hallway, but Torres didn't move. Instead, she too began to speak, leaning over the bed.

"Mark? You were the best friend I have ever had...and...the best father Sofia could have had...You were, and I promise...I promise she'll always know how much you loved her..." the tears started to fall again. "We'll always tell her. Always."

Callie lifted a shaking hand to her lips, pressing a small kiss on her fingers before brushing them across Sloan's forehead. Then she stood up straight and turned back to face Alex. He scowled and shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortably aware that everyone in the room, from Torres, Kepner, and Avery, right down to the orderlies and the nun, was looking at him expectantly. If he was looking and didn't know any better, Alex wouldn't have been surprised to find freakin' Sloan looking at him that way too.

What the hell did they expect him to do?

It was only when Alex could feel all their eyes burning into his that he allowed his eyes to finally look at Mark. It was surprising but...he did look peaceful. The last time he'd checked in on the room, before it was over, Sloan had been thrashing around and in pain. Calling out for Lexie. Now...it was like the dude was just resting. Maybe he'd found Lexie. And some peace. Alex hoped that in the end, that's what death was.

"Um...you uh, saved my life once..." Alex swallowed at the onslaught of unwanted shooting memories that filled his mind. He did not need to be dwelling on that crap right now. All he'd let himself think of was the fact that Sloan and Lexie had saved his freaking life. He cleared his throat and continued,"You and Lex...saved my life. And I don't think I ever told you...well, thanks or whatever. So...thanks...I, uh, hope wherever you are now beats this joint."

Callie nodded and moved for the door, as Jackson and April quickly made their way around the bed. Alex still didn't get it. He didn't get what had just happned. Because...it was weird. Visiting a dead body to say goodbye, right? He didn't understand why...why suddenly he felt a little better. A little lighter. Maybe it wouldn't do Mark Sloan any good. Saying stuff out loud. But now Alex could see that saying that stuff out loud was good for them. For Jackson. Callie. Even himself and Kepner. If he believed in that Oprah full cirlce life moment crap, he'd say that that is what it was. Closure or whatever.

One of the nuns nodded to them as they all rose and filed out of the room, "We'll be good to him..."

Torres sniffed and nodded, and Alex tightened his grip on her shoulders. They all shuffled through the doors into the hallway and lingered outside the door for a minute.

"Avery..." Callie whispered hoarsely. "You know...Mark never really wanted to teach anyone until...until he started teaching you. He was so proud of you going to Tulane."

Jackson's jaw muscles twitched, and he looked like he was gonna shake his head before he finally nodded in thanks. Kepner held on to Avery's hand, whispering something Alex couldn't make out in his ear, before they turned and headed down the hall toward the near empty waiting room. Watching them go, Alex gave April a small nod of approval. She had Avery covered. He'd deal with Torres and Robbins. It was strange, because Alex hadn't exactly cared for Kepner, Avery, Mer or any of them really in the beginning. He'd been in the game of residency for one person and one person alone. Alex Karev.

But somehow over the course of all the crap that had happened to them, the cancer, divorces, shootings, the freakin' crashes...somewhere along the line they'd all become a team. A family. And while he might not have picked these suckers to all be a part of his family, it was a comfort to know that everyone had everyone else's back. Robbins would need it. Torres. Shepherd. And Mer. His own responsibility or whatever, wasn't as back breaking. Or as lonely.

"Alex?" Torres turned her red rimmed gaze to Alex once again. She looked lost. "I don't know what to-Mark is dead...I don't know how to be here...when he is dead. I don't know what to do or where to go."

He could only look at her with a pained expression. That was thing. You don't really know how to live without someone you love until you actually have to live without them. Alex knew that well enough. There's no instruction manual. No way to practice in advance. And nothing that can make the loss feel like anything other than a punch in the gut. All he could think to do was to remind Callie of what she had not lost.

"Hey," he said. "Why don't we go sit with Arizona for a bit, huh? She's close to waking up..."

Jackson felt...he couldn't exactly describe how he felt. He'd gone through the cycle of grief entirely too many times. He felt felt like his emotions were just a raw open wound. He'd gone from being well, if not happy, hopeful about taking a chance and dating April. An action he'd largely taken as a result of his mentor's advice. But now Mark was dead. And Jackson had gone through virtually every possible response he could think of feeling. He was still reeling from the whole thing. He'd felt anger, denial, disbelief, and distress. Jackson had known Sloan was bad, but he'd held on to the hope that his teacher and friend could pull through and make it. It was an almost unbelievable concept that Mark hadn't.

Mark Sloan died today. He died. To Jackson, the world wasn't quite the same.

Seeing Sloan had really started to make him fully understand that it was all true. That it wasn't some sick and terrible nightmare. Jackson had gone in the room in a haze of disbelief. Hadn't it only been mere hours ago that he had sat in this very room, with Mark alive? Sloan had been out of it. In pain. Unconscious. Crying out for Lexie. But alive. He wanted to believe that being alive was better than being dead. And yet, looking at his mentor lying in the bed now, he had to admit that it was calming to see that the lines of tension, hurt, and fear were gone from Mark's forehead. Whatever agony he'd been dealing with when Jackson had last seen him, it was all over now. And that was something.

But Jackson still couldn't quite shake his feelings of guilt. He'd never told Mark how much it meant to him to have Sloan's support as a mentor. Sure, in the beginning their relationship and dynamic had been uneasily wrapped up in their feelings for Lexie. But as it had gone on, Jackson knew that he'd learned so much from his mentor, and not just about being a surgeon, but about life and being a man. Sloan had pushed him, in a lot of ways, and that was exactly what he had needed. With Mark, Jackson had never slid on the coat tails of Harper Avery. If his sutures weren't perfect, Sloan made him do them over until they were. If something was off in his game, Mark would always do his best to make sure that Jackson fixed whatever was wrong. He'd always gone to bat for him and Jackson would never forget that.

All these things he'd never told his mentor, of course. People don't really say important things to people while they are alive. Jackson thought he'd learned the error of this habit in the shooting. But this had driven the idea home in his mind. Because of Sloan he'd found his true calling as a plastic surgeon. How can you say thank you for that? He owed Mark. And that got Jackson thinking.

Through it all, the stunned realization in the chapel when Alex had come with the news of Mark's death, to the desolate feeling hospital room, to the waiting room afterword, April had been there by his side, holding his hand. She was a constant support, and Jackson knew that his decision to finally breach their awkwardness and talk about everything was a good call. The only way he'd ever get through all of this was if he knew that they would be together. They were together. The two of them.

It was easier to face stuff, when you knew you had the person you loved to help you get through it all. He owed Mark. Jackson felt another pang of sadness as he thought of Sloan and Lexie.

Now Jackson and April sat, side by side in the severe looking green waiting room for families at the hospital. St. Johns seemed to be a much less chaotic and busy place than Seattle Grace, because even in these very early hours of the morning, the room was virtually empty. Behind them, an older couple sat murmuring quietly and sipping cups of coffee. In the far corner, a middle aged man had put his feet up on the table in front of his row of seats, and placed a newspaper over his head. They could hear his soft snores. Jackson sniffed and rubbed his own eyes.

"Hey," April whispered gently. "Do you want to try to sleep a bit? I'm not sure either of us is q-quite good to drive to the hotel, if you wanted to go back."

"We should stay...see how it goes with Meredith."

"Okay, well there's nothing that says we can't rest here then. "

Forcing a small laugh Jackson glanced at the man across the room and joked, "I didn't grab a paper for my pillow."

"Right," she said, chuckling weakly. "Well, how about you stretch out right here? Try me for a pillow."

April grabbed his shoulders and guided his head to her lap, scooting over on their row, so that Jackson could lay his body down. He might normally have protested. After all, she was the one who had driven the whole way here, and she was his girlfriend, so by the strange rights of chivalry or the etiquette his mother had spent a lifetime drumming into his mind, Jackson thought that she should probably be the one able to be sort of comfortable. But today was hell, and he was beat, so Jackson offered little resistance.

As soon as he was settled, April tentatively began running her fingers through Jackson's hair, carefully massaging his head and temples. The touches were so calm, gentle, and comforting that it eased the tension from his body and was almost enough to lull Jackson to sleep. If only he could keep his troubled mind from racing. From trying to comprehend how, in the span of 48 hours, Lexie Grey and Mark Sloan had both died. He stared up at April through heavy lidded eyes. Grief, concern, and exhaustion were etched across her face, and her red hair had long ago started to escape from the ponytail she'd pulled it into the previous morning. But Jackson still thought she was gorgeous.

She smiled sadly, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Do you believe they are together now? In...heaven or something?"

Mark and Lexie. Hell, even Reed and Charles too if he really thought about it. They had never gotten a chance to be together in life, it would only be fair if they got that chance in death. It was the one idea that could make the whole unfair situation more palatable for Jackson. The one belief that could make the pill easier to swallow. If he knew that in heaven or the afterlife or Valhalla or whatever came next, Mark could finally be with the woman he loved. It was the only thing that would take any of the sting away from the fact that neither Sloan nor Lexie were alive now to be with the people who loved them.

If he could just believe that; know that it was true, Jackson thought he could sleep. So he was asking April. Because, as he had found out earlier in this crazy long night, his girlfriend was the one of them who knew about faith. She might still be grappling with it, but Jackson thought April was closer to understanding it all than he was. Closer than she knew she was. And he knew he would believe her.

April sniffed and she blinked down at him, clearly a little surprised at Jackson's question. She opened her mouth and her lower lip quivered, as her fingers continued their gentle ministrations against his temples. He thought for a moment that she hadn't heard him, but then she swallowed and spoke in a low whisper.

"I..." April stared down ad Jackson's red rimmed, sleepy, beautiful eyes. She'd always loved how they seemed to change color with his mood. One shade of blue accompanied laughter. A slightly greener tint meant he was feeling goofy. Still another mix meant he was angry. And this hue meant that he was lost. Sad. The way he was looking up at her, almost desperate. Like he needed to believe her. How could she tell him she wasn't 100% sure?

"Yes," she said finally, looking up across the near empty waiting room. "Yes, I think they are."

April stared down at Jackson's pleading gaze, hoping that he was satisfied with her answer. She didn't know how to answer him. As his girlfriend? His best friend? Was there a difference? She was still confused about what this all meant. Them, her faith, all of it. How could God take away Sofia's father? Callie's best friend? If those completely unfair things could happen, April wasn't entirely sure how God could make it balance out in heaven. And yet, inexplicably, she still found herself believing in it. As confused as she was, she did believe, even if she couldn't explain why. Maybe she only believed because she hoped so, but she couldn't let it go. April wanted to believe that Mark and Lexie, Reed and Charles, everyone she'd ever lost, had gone to a better place. Together. So she did. She chose to believe, despite all her uncertainty.

The Jesus of her childhood would have made sure of it all, and right now that was enough. Uncomplicated belief.

April continued running her fingers through Jackson's tightly curled hair. She didn't really know that anything could make him feel better. Her words seem to relax him. He smiled solemnly up at her, before he closed his eyes, and his breathing started to even out. Good. April thought maybe the best thing for both of them would be a dreamless sleep. She moved one elbow to the armrest, and rested her chin on her hands, letting her own eyes close for some rest.

Sleep must have actually pulled her under, because the next thing April knew, she was being pulled awake by Jackson's quiet voice.

"April?"

She snorted embarrassingly and startled awake, yawning, "Wha? What?"

"April?"

"Yeah, Jackson?" she replied more coherently as she rubbed her stiff neck.

He was looking up at her again. Only this time his eyes were steely and determined.

"I can't go to Tulane."

April honestly wasn't sure that now was exactly the best time to be making any more big decisions about things. She still wasn't really sure that making the decision to date last night had been the best thing either. She didn't know. Everything was moving too fast, and maybe Jackson should just sleep and let things stew for a bit. Take a break from trying to figure it all out. She understood his point about time being something you can't count on. She understood it even more now, given everything that had just happened. But April thought that maybe sometimes, you should give everything a moment. Let time work things out. It was kind of like...cooking or something. Life had a recipe as much as any dish. And some parts needed time to brew. If you rushed, the food would taste bad. But April didn't know how explain that to Jackson.

"I can't go..." Jackson continued, slipping the fingers of one hand into April's. "I need to stay here. Help everyone out. Sofia...I kind of know what it's like...I mean she won't remember Mark...it'll be good for her to be around as many people as possible who remember him."

Oh. April mentally kicked herself. Of course.

"Your Dad died when you were 9 right?"

She hadn't considered that he would connect this loss with the loss of Dr. Julian Avery. Which was a stupid oversight, now that she really thought about it, considering there was a strange paternal aspect to the plastics posse. It must make the loss feel even worse.

Jackson never really talked about his Dad, which was revealing, considering how much he spoke about everyone else in his family. He'd told April long and animated stories about his crazy meddling mother. He'd told her about his latent feelings of inferiority when compared to his successful brother and cousins. He'd told her about the way he'd once tried to find and hold onto a facial expression that made him look less 'pretty' around his grandfather, so the old man might take him more seriously. Jackson had told April these stories and more throughout the course of their friendship. But he'd only told her once or twice about his father. April still only knew about the surgeons brief fight with cancer from the internet. Jackson had never told her himself how his father died.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Jackson swallowed, "Yeah."

April rested her hands on either side of his face. He was so perfect. From his eyes to his jawline to the faint line of freckles that ran across his nose. Jackson didn't deserve to be so sad. His cheeks were covered in stubble. He needed a shave. Her heart ached for Jackson. She didn't know what say. There wasn't anything she could say.

"So...I'm not going to go," he said finally. "I wasn't exactly excited to leave anyway, and now...well, I never wanted to leave you to begin with."

And here was the conflict again. The place where she was torn between being best friend, which April had been for years, and girlfriend, a position she'd occupied for all of what? 5, maybe 6 hours?

As best friend she knew she should probably be telling Jackson that Tulane was a wonderful once in a lifetime opportunity, and that it wasn't worth losing. Not because of guilt or sadness. Certainly not over a girl he'd just started dating. He deserved to have his fellowship at one of the best hospitals in the country. Once, as Jackson's best friend, April would have told him this.

But now? As his girlfriend, April wanted to beg him not to leave her. How could they figure out if dating was the right thing, if Jackson moved away? She would tell him that she was sick with the thought of being apart from him too, and that she didn't want to ever be far from him. Which advice would be better for him? She didn't know. She didn't know how to be. She could only do her best to help support him, and her best hadn't really been up to snuff lately.

Granted, April had yet to work her own life out in any way, shape, or form. Maybe she'd be the one who ended up leaving. The thought made her want to cry. She wasn't board certified. She didn't have a job. Or her virginity. All she had was a shattered ego, a lost sense of purpose, and a plane ticket back to Moline.

But April was sleepy and Jackson was distraught and she didn't want to dwell on any of these worries right now. With the plane crash, and the losses of Mark and Lexie, the change in her and Jackson's relationship, and her confusion about practically everything she'd ever believed. It was just too much.

So April sighed, and ran her fingers across Jackson's lips, silencing any further words.

"Hey," she whispered. "There's n-no need to make any big decisions right now, you know? We can just sit here."

Jackson laughed, nodding, as he curled himself closer in her lap, "I love you, April. Believe me when I tell you I do."

"I..." April stared down at his sincere gaze. Things were probably moving too quickly and she hadn't really stopped and took the time to think or sort out what she was feeling at all, and it was probably not a good idea at all to just let it blurt out without really organizing it or figuring out what it meant. But, April was sure about this. She was, regardless of how out of place it might be to say right here and right now. Even though Mark Sloan had died.

Mark Sloan who had maybe sort of put the idea of...well, being more than study buddies out there as a viable thing. Until he'd harassed her about it, April had thought that the idea was only a pointless fantasy in her own mind. But then he'd seemed to have thought it would be a good idea, for whatever unscrupulous reason. And looking back April wondered whether that was the moment when she'd began to slide from her distant pining to a deeper lust. The kind of lust that would drive her to jump Jackson outside her hotel room door. She could never tell Jackson about Dr. Sloan though.

And besides Jackson had just said it. So why couldn't she just be honest also? It wasn't like saying it would disrespect Sloan or Lexie or anyone. She didn't think he'd bite her head off for it. And it was the one thing April was completely certain about.

"I...I love you too."

A slow and steady throb was the first thing that Meredith was aware of. She couldn't be certain where it was coming from, or what it was, but the throb was constant. Gradually, she become more aware, and she could identify it as coming from her head. It was her head the seemed to beat like a drum at regular intervals and wouldn't let her remain blissfully unaware. And with her throbbing head identified, Meredith could also recognize a lesser pain in her thigh. And when she thought about her thigh something clicked in her mind and it all came flooding back to her.

Meredith could remember the feeling of glass and metal in her hands as she pulled the shrapnel out of her leg. And the sound of Cristina's voice. They were in a plane. A plane that had crashed. Plane crash.

Plane crash. Plane crash.

Lexie was dead. Her sister. The sister she'd only just started to get to know, and who she'd never really told how much she loved was dead. Crushed beneath the mighty metal of a human made plane. Plane crash.

Derek's hand. Mark's heart. Arizona's leg. Cristina's shoe. Plane crash.

Meredith moaned and tears fell from her eyes. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home and hold her daughter and live in a world where plane crashes never happened and sisters never died. And your person always wanted you to be their person. She didn't really care where she was right now, as long as it wasn't there.

"Mer?" A voice joined the constant throb of her head, and the low ebb of pain in her leg. Meredith tried to ignore it, but her ability to hide inside her own head was becoming less and less effective.

"Meredith?" Someone was holding her hand. It was Cristina.

She sighed and struggled to open her eyes. When she finally did, Meredith could dimly make out the four walls of an unfamiliar hospital room. So they'd made it out of the woods at least. At least. Meredith blinked slowly and licked her lips, glancing numbly around the room.

"C-ris.." her voice was dry and caught in her throat, so she let the rest of the word die on her lips. Cristina would know. She'd know that it meant that she was in tact. Recognized her friend. Understood where she was.

The hand that was wrapped around her own gave a tight squeeze. Her friend blinked at her tearfully and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Mer...Mer, I-I'm so glad you're awake."

There was a depth to the sentiment that ran far deeper than the surface meaning of those words, Meredith knew. And while she couldn't gather enough strength to speak clearly again, she could move her hand. So, she worked to carefully move her fingers against Cristina's hand. Not quite a squeeze, but Cristina would know.

Her person, let out a shuddering sigh, and a full smile spread across her face.