I committed to F that I'd update all three unfinished stories before the end of 2013. So I'm starting here. This update will make more sense if you read the first two short chapters. Reviews are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated.

all I know is that I'm here

"Mark, slow down," Addison whispers urgently across the gurney. It's only then he realizes he's half a foot ahead of her, starting to break into a jog automatically on the familiar lysol-scented linoleum. He's never been here before but it's as recognizable as every hospital he's worked in, heavy with disinfectant and fear.

"Sorry." He forces himself to slow down.

She gives him a quick sideways look. He sees the exact moment she doesn't ask are you okay? because it's a meaningless question at this point, and he thinks the glance he throws back at her communicates that too. Annabel's fingers tighten slightly within his as they walk and it reminds him inexorably of the way she'd wrap a pudgy baby fist around his thumb. It takes effort to bring his focus away from that image; he'd rather lose himself in it. He could protect her then. But now? Max's little chin - surprisingly sharp - bumps his shoulder as he hoists his son a bit higher. The poor kid must be exhausted - Mark can feel his head bobbing a bit - but he's quiet, uncomplaining.

He realizes the flaw in bringing Max as two nurses start to direct them to a private room, an administrator with a clipboard talking about admission and shuffling forms. Max lifts his head just as one of the nurses starts an IV. Addison is leaning over a stoic Annabel, prepared to comfort her, and Mark feels his son freeze in his arms.

Mark hurriedly shifts him so he can't see the bed. "I think we'll just..." he gestures toward the door.

Addison's expression is somewhere between worried and grateful.

In the hallway it's a little easier to breathe. "You hungry, bud?" Max shrugs within the circle of his arms. Mark tries again: "You want to get down and walk?"

This time his son nods and Mark lets him slide down, then takes his hand firmly in his own. "Stay close, okay? It's busy here."

He follows the signs like he knows the place - all the cafeterias look the same - and buys Max an ice cream without even a pro forma refusal.

"What were they doing to Bel?" The words are somewhat unformed around a mouthful of ice cream, but Mark hears it.

"Helping her. Giving her some medicine in a needle." Mark doesn't like to lie to his kids - sugarcoat maybe, sometimes literally, but Max is the son of two doctors and Mark knows it's less the needles that are upsetting than the general ambience of the room.

"Will they make her better?" Max's legs swing from the plastic cafeteria chair.

"That's what they're trying to do." He forces a smile. "We'll go back and see her once they get her settled in, okay? And then-"

"Hi!" An unfamiliar voice chirps. "You're Annabel Sloan's family?"

Mark looks up to a smiling blonde doctor in navy scrubs.

Before he can answer Max cries: "A triceratops!" and reaches a little hand out toward a fluffy clip-on suspended from the doctor's stethoscope. Mark stops him gently.

"Ask before you touch, remember, buddy."

"It's okay, that's what it's there for!" The doctor beams at both of them. "Go right ahead - what was your name?"

"Max," he intones gravely and, after Mark nods at him, he reaches for the dinosaur again.

"Why don't you press his horn? Go on," she encourages him.

"Whoa!"

"Sounds like a real dinosaur, right?"

"I don't know what dinosaurs sounded like for real." Mark has to hide a smile at his son's thoughtful tone. Max is a playful child but certain subjects he takes seriously, dinosaurs being prime among them.

"But maybe like this!" continues the relentlessly cheerful doctor. Every word she says has an exclamation point. Mark imagines she'd get very exhausting, very fast, but Max can't take his eyes off her. She turns her broad smile on Mark now.

"I'm Dr. Robbins. Pediatrics," and she gestures with a smile at the dinosaur around her neck.

"Dr. Sloan," he says automatically. "Mark." They shake hands. "Did you..."

"We're all updated on Annabel," she nods, tone still cheerful. "I can't wait to meet her. I thought you might want some time to get her settled in," and she glances at Max.

Mark meets her gaze, sensing her judgment, if not disapproval. He knows it's somewhat bold, at the very least, bringing their four-year-old with them on this journey. Maybe most families wouldn't do this - in fact, a few of the doctors in Manhattan made that quite clear, saying things like uncertain outcome and coping strategy and normalcy. But one thing is certain: they are not most families.

"There's a great playroom upstairs, Dr. Sloan."

"I'm not sure..." Mark glances at Max, who's jabbing the wooden paddle of a spoon into the puddled remains of his ice cream, the dinosaur briefly forgotten.

"Max, would you like to see some of the toys we have here?" Dr. Robbins speaks directly to Max, smiling brightly, and Mark finds himself vaguely annoyed at his loss of control over the situation.

"We have a whole room of toys upstairs, and there might be some other kids there. And then you can see your sister when she gets settled. What do you think, Max? And Dad?" She looks to Mark, who forces a smile for his son's sake.

Max nods eagerly, giving Dr. Robbins his hand and Mark watches them walk away with a sense of unease. He has to stifle a cry of stop because he doesn't like the idea of being separated from Max. Bad things happen when your back is turned, don't they?

Addison shoots him a quizzical look when he returns to Annabel's room.

"He's in the playroom," Mark responds before she can ask, stopping to give Annabel a kiss. "We met a doctor in the cafeteria-"

"Let me guess - Robbins, right?"

He realizes there's someone else in the room, a skinny doctor with a messy ponytail who seems vaguely familiar, but he can't quite place her.

"Dr. Robbins is basically our hospital's own child whisperer. Your son's in good hands." She holds out her own hand. "I'm Dr. Grey."

"Dr. Sloan." He releases her hand, sees the flash of a gold wedding band on the hand that's holding Annabel's chart.

"Your daughter's in good hands too," she says quietly. "Dr. Shepherd is the best there is."

Don't talk to me about Derek like I'm a goddamned stranger.

Out loud he says nothing, just nods silently. How is this doctor to know that he was there when Derek performed his first surgery - on Lizzie's barbie, in the backyard? The rubber blonde lost a leg in a tragic accident involving Derek's battery powered car and a baking-powder-and-coca-cola volcano. They took it so seriously too, Derek even changing into his cub scout uniform first so he could give her a proper burial "just in case." She survived though, thanks to a well-placed rubber band; they were even able to squeeze her back into her sparkly gown. That was Derek: a miracle worker from the start.

When he looks up again he catches Addison's eye, sees the silhouette of Dr. Grey as she pages through the chart, remembers the flash of the wedding band and puts it together. Meredith. Oh.

"So this is Annabel." The voice in the doorway is unmistakeable.

Mark swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry, but Derek just looks right past him as he strides into the room. "Hi, Annabel, I'm Dr. Shepherd. I have a couple of questions for you, okay?"

A couple of interns trail in in his wake.

"Can you follow my finger?"

Mark and Addison move closer to each other as one, and her hand finds his first.

"Good job." Derek's tone gives nothing away.

"Hey, Annabel, look at this." He shows her a small instrument. "This is my animal maker. Have you seen one of these before?"

"No. What is it?" Annabel looks interested; he sees her start to reach for it.

"Watch." Derek smiles at her, and does something to the instrument. A shadow appears on the wall in front of them.

"You see that?"

"A rabbit."

"How about this one?"

"Horse."

Derek moves the light to the right. "What about now?"

Mark sees Annabel start to turn her head, then stop. Addison's hand grips his harder.

"I don't know."

"And this one?" Derek smiles at her, moving the wand a little closer. Annabel's eyes flicker.

"I don't want to play anymore."

"Okay." He snaps the instrument shut. "You got all the best ones anyway."

She gives him a tiny smile.

"May I?" He's careful in his examination, asking Annabel's permission, involving her in what he's doing. Mark's not surprised; he's always been good with kids. Neither of them had the stomach for peds and Mark remembers why when Annabel asks: "Are you going to make me better?"

"I'm going to try."

"Can I go home soon?"

Addison's nails dig into his palm and he welcomes the pain; it's better than listening to their daughter's small voice carry across the room. He remembers his peds rotation well. All the kids ask the same questions. He remembers big eyes, a frightened face. Are you going to hurt me? The memory twists his stomach. He never thought he'd be on this side of the room.

"I hope you can." Derek smiles at her. "I'm going to talk to your parents for a few minutes. Nurse Evans-" she materializes as if out of thin air - "is going to stay with you."

There's a viewing room down the hall and they trail him in. Mark shoves his hands in his pockets; it's that or hold onto Addison and he's fairly certain that's not going to work right now.

Scans are already hanging on the lightbox and when Derek turns around to face them his jaw twitches slightly. Addison recognizes it before Mark does; he feels her freeze next to him before Derek starts talking.

"Addison-"

"Please." She starts to shake next to him and Mark, tact be damned, pulls his hand out of his pocket to wrap an arm around her. He can't meet Derek's eyes; it's not just the guilt and the shame, it's not even the fear, it's forty years of history that make Derek's eyes too easy to read, and he doesn't want to see what they have to say.

Then Derek's talking, explaining something to Addison, but the words aren't sinking in. Mark's somewhere else.

His feet pound the linoleum. He rounds the corner, shoes squeaking, and then he sees the back of her red head. "Addie! What happened? Your text just said-"

"Mark!" She's grabbing him before he can see anything, do anything, process what's happened. He holds her on autopilot, can't bring himself to push her back and even if he wanted to her fingers dig in so hard he's not sure he could.

"What happened? She fell? Addie," now he does try to pull her back. "Talk to me."

"She -" Addison is crying, seemingly with no concern for their audience, and this worries him most of all. "She did fall, but-"

"Okay. Anything broken? Did she hit her head?"

"No breaks. No, that's not it."

"Good. Addison, that's good news-"

"She had a seizure, Mark."

Okay. He's holding both her arms, keeping both of them steady. Addison's eyes are green with grief, shining with tears. "Okay," he repeats, ice starting to penetrate his veins. "But she's stable now, right, and-"

"Mark, they found something," and then she's in his arms again and he's holding her hard because it's Annabel, who's been skating for years without more than a bruised knee, who sailed through the chicken pox without a single scar, who never got a single ear infection even when Max was antibiotic-laden and howling. She's strong and she's healthy and she's seven. Addison is shaking in his arms, and he's powerless to comfort her because he knows that something is never good and that something is about to change all their lives.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a white coat, a clipboard, a folder full of scans, and an expression he knows all too well. The world turns upside down from doctor to patient as he hears words he recognizes for the harbinger they are: "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

"Mark." Addison's touching his sleeve. "Are you..."

He nods quickly. Addison's eyes are shining with tears.

"You'll try, though, Derek..."

"I'll try."

"You're the only one who's done this before." Her voice is small with wonder, with pleading.

"Once, Addison. One time. A smaller mass. An older patient. You know the procedure is ... experimental."

Addison's nails are leaving marks in his palm. They might as well be permanent grooves now. If Derek's disturbed by their closeness there's no sign of it; his pale eyes are focused intently on Addison and they are soft with pain. Mark could be invisible. It might as well not be his child propped in a hospital bed right now with a countdown hanging over her head.

"But how did this-"

"These things happen. There's no cause or prevention. There's nothing you could have done." It sounds rote because it is, and it irks Mark.

"She was skating," Addison bleats. "She fell-"

"The seizure could have caused the fall, not the other way around. But either way, you're lucky it happened-"

Lucky.

"-because we were able to pinpoint the mass when we did. Addison, you-" and then Derek seems to remember him but still can't bring himself to pronounce his name: "-both of you need to understand that this is not a guarantee. It's far from it."

"Please, Derek. I just need you to - do what you can," Addison finishes tremulously and Derek must remember them well enough to know what she really means - I just need you to save her - because even though he nods briskly and leaves them in the room his expression makes it look like he was punched in the stomach.

Mark hears the voices of the doctors in New York, so certain there was no time, nothing to hope for except as little pain as possible, and wonders not for the first time if coming here was a mistake.

There's a knock on the door.

"Dr. Sloan? Dr. Montgomery?" It's a nurse he doesn't recognize. "Dr. Shepherd said I could find you in here. Dr. Grey has some questions for you."

Annabel is sleeping; they talk in low voices in the corner of her room, Dr. Grey pausing only to send an intern for Annabel's labs.

"No family history?" she asks.

He feels Addison stiffen next to him. "My brother," she says finally. "He had a ... neurological event."

"Right." Dr. Grey's tone is kind, even sympathetic, and Mark can tell from her expression that she's putting the pieces together. Derek must have said something to her, when it happened. It would have been impossible for him not to know, but he never reached out.

"He was all we had left." She repeats it over and over, the morning they're set to bury him, and he takes her in his arms as best as he can to accommodate her bulging midriff.

"We have each other, Addie. The three of us. The four of us," he corrects himself, resting a hand over her belly and waiting for a reassuring kick. Addison doesn't cry, just breathes against him in short, sharp puffs that he worries aren't good for the baby. But he worries about Addison first; she needs him now. They may not have seen Archer that regularly, but he was a part of their lives. He never shunned them. Archer remembered them, before, and with him went their last connection to their past. He knows she'll mourn that as much as him and he knows she knows it too. They don't have to say it. Annabel is still sleeping when they leave for for Connecticut but they take turns giving her kisses while the nanny watches sympathetically from the doorway. Addison is silent in the car and tearless at the service. They sit in the back of the church, and he knows the receiving line is the first time she'd seen her parents in nearly seven years. They exchange no words.

"I need a drink," she says finally, at the reception. She's stiff in black crepe and pearls, and even for Addison her heels can't be comfortable.

"I wish you could have one." He's been holding back all day out of fairness to her but he's not sure how much longer he can last.

"Then I need to go home."

"That I can do." She sleeps most of the ride, tells him she's fine, but she's short of breath the next morning, brushing away his concern when he tries to check her out. "Addison, you could be bringing on labor-"

"Are you really trying to tell me about my specialty?"

"I'm just worried."

"Don't be. I'm fine." She proves it by lifting Annabel to what passes for her lap these days to coax her to finish her breakfast.

They both turn out to be right.: labor did come before it should, but Addison was fine. Max is born late that night, three and a half weeks early, howling lustily the moment he enters the world. As soon as he's placed damp and naked on Addison's chest he roots and is contentedly sucking within seconds. Addison's eyes flutter open and closed with the rhythm of it, with exhaustion from delivery. He catches her gently touching the arch of Max's infant brow.

"He looks a little like Archer, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Mark touches the baby's cheek, lightly, with the back of his finger, not wanting to interrupt his meal. "I think you're right."

"It's unlikely that there's a genetic component, but I did want to ask. I've reviewed the history and I'll let you know if we need any more information."

"Thank you."

"And Dr. Montgomery - Addison," she says, surprising Mark slightly. Dr. Grey looks like she's not sure if she's going to finish her sentence, but then she does: "I - just wanted to say I think you did the right thing bringing her here. I'm a mother too, and I would have done the same thing."

A mother. So that means she and Derek - but he doesn't have time to process this new information because the machine surrounding Annabel start beeping wildly as her small body convulses.