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"We're losing him! Charge at 200! And all clea-"

The door to her room is ajar; the inside dark, the strip of light from the living room stretching across the floor, hitting the bed, a thin line dancing across her face. Her eyes are closed but she's not asleep, he can tell by her breathing.

"You should talk to her." A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Familiar. They bring comfort; they're safe haven, they're home.

"I know." He kisses her temple and pushes the door, letting more light in, the strip on the floor expanding. "Mind if I come in?" She opens her eyes and looks at him; they're puffy, she's been crying. She nods, weakly, but doesn't speak.

"I'm sorry." And he is, sorry for everything.

"What for? That you lied to me, or that you're leaving?"

"All of it. We shouldn't have lied. But we thought that, that if you didn't know, you wouldn't worry. We didn't want you to worry. And leaving… Zo, they need me. And I know it seems silly to you, reckless even; but it's just a few trips, it's a few months."

"Fine." It's not. It's curt. It's petulant. It's childish. It's very un-Zoey. But it reminds him, reminds him – she is a child.

"Scoot over." She looks at him like he's an alien, foreign, like she doesn't understand. But then she moves, making space. He lies next to her, wrapping his arm around her, her head resting on his chest. "I am going to come back. OK?"

"You don't know that. Things happen. Accidents. And people, people don't come back. You just got engaged." Her voice is uneven, breaths sharp, tears falling from her eyes – he can feel them on his shirt; he can physically feel the hurt.

"Zo, I will come back. I promise you that. Because you and Karen and Gerry are too important. Your graduations and boyfriends, your life's events – they're too important to miss. And your mom – I got her to agree to marry me. Do you know how amazing, how incredible that is? I just got her to agree 12 hours ago, I'm not letting her go; ever. So I will come back. To our movie nights; and games and to watch you dance. I am going away for a little bit. And it's dangerous, and it's not pretty; but I will be OK. I will be safe. I will stay safe. And then, one day, not too far away, I'll get on the plane and I'll be back."

"But then you'll have to leave again."

"Yeah… But I'll always come back."

"Promise? Because…" and there's a pause. He squeezes her shoulder, letting her know – it's ok; whatever she needs to say. "You and mom… you're all I have."

"And that's why we're not going anywhere. We're going to be here for years to come, until we're both senile, calling you every five minutes, running you down. We're not going anywhere until we have grandchildren in our arms."

There is a deafening silence. A moment of quiet. A moment where death and life are intertwined, so close together they are one. A moment before the outcome; before the breath is drawn in, before there is a gasp for air, for life. A moment of silence. It's a second. A second between the crash, the rush, the pedals – a moment to live, or to die. A second in a life; a to death. They say your life flashes before your eyes – the past – the moments that made the life. It flashes, like a farewell, a goodbye. That's not what happened to Fitzgerald Grant. He didn't see his past. He didn't re-live the day he met her at that club, the night she asked him out; he didn't see her broken face as she walked away. He didn't see his children born again. He didn't see himself, standing in front of her that night, after 15 years apart, kissing her; he didn't get to see her again on their wedding night. No, he didn't see the past. Instead, a different kind of life flashed before his eyes – surging through him like electricity.

She's squeezing his hand, pushing her forehead into his chest and there's a loud scream – and then – silence pierced by a cry. They look up at the midwife. Liv lets out a weak laugh and he's cutting the cord, his hands shaky and weak; he can't speak, he just watches his wife holding their son for the very first time. It's magical; the miracle of a brand new life.

And it's Christmas and the kids are running around, colorful lights illuminating the night; laughter filling the room, filling his heart. And then Zoey's in a gown, a golden rope draped around her neck – she speaks so well. She tells a tale of a girl found, given a new life, one stormy December night, in a New York hospital, by a woman who became her mom. And Gerry is looking up from their hug, teary-eyes – "Thanks dad!" – It's a gallery opening and he's never been so proud. And Karen is running up to him, her white coat flapping in the wind, wrapping around her scrups, her messy hair flying in front of her grin.

And Liv. He always comes back to Liv; it's homecoming. She's sitting in a rocking chair; her hair grey, but the light in her eyes is still the same. It's dark and she's speaking softly to the infant in her arms. "You know, I used to tell your mom, stars are magical. They make us realize how lucky we are that in this universe, this chaos, the randomness, we find someone, someone to care about, someone to love, someone we can explain to, why we love the stars; someone that loves them as much. The thing about the stars, you know, their light is in the past; but if you think about it the other way around, that means we, we are in the future, we are to yet come." And he looks at the stars, or is it the city lights? The light of the stars – closing in, overtaking everything; taking him.

But then, then like electricity it surges through him – the will to live. He doesn't want the light of the stars, or the dark of the night; he doesn't want the future or the past; he wants here and now – he wants her; not in a dream, he wants reality. For a moment it's dark; the silence piercing his eyes; but then there's a biip – there's life.

He can hear voices – muffled and distant. He wants to look up, but his eyes are heavy, the eyelids resistant.

"We lost James Novak. We're not losing this guy."

"Well, he's a fighter if I've ever seen one."

"The transfer's ready."

"HAS ANYONE CALLED HIS WIFE?" Silence. The awkward kind. "Well someone notify the family we're transferring him to Germany."

And he drifts off thinking – Livvy.

Ok, so I know I said I'd update, but my brain's just been a bit un-cooperative. Which is why this chapter is shorter as well. This just kind of flowed out, but then, I didn't want to ruin it by forcing the rest. So hopefully, I'll update the next one fairly quickly. The next one is back to Liv and everyone. Also, I'm really curious what you thought of the future flashing idea. I've had that on my mind for a while, and I know it's been done, but I wanted to twist it up and not have the sad-life-without-type, but rather all the reasons to live. Thanks for the reviews guys, I just love, love, love reading them :)