𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ━━ 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐝

thirty one | love

"Why are you here?"

I stand freely in an empty hallway just outside of the trauma room, where the chief, Bailey, and Burke work on me.

"It's your imagination, my dear."

Iona Allard — formerly Allard-Phoenix — is in front of me, having not changed in the last twenty years since she left.

"You mentioned something about a bridge?"

"Ah, yes. The Bridge Between Life and Death."

She lifts her palms to the air, and the words "Life" and "Death" appear on either side of her almost theatrically.

"You have a choice to make, Leven."

"Why do you have to be here?"

I close my eyes and shake my head side to side, trying to wake myself from the nightmare waiting to begin.

"You're as stubborn as your father." She comments lightly.

"Don't mention him, Iona." My eyes narrow in anger. "You don't get to mention him after you left the two of us."

"Leven —"

"I was five. How much could I have hurt you that made you leave?"

----------

"Tell me. I want to go in there."

"Her temp is 91. Burke has a pacemaker coming in about an hour —"

"She doesn't have an hour, Addison." Against his will, Derek yells. "There's risk of brain damage. I need to go in there."

But she stops him. "Derek, you can't. Not for Leven. . .not for anybody. You're in no shape."

"Is there anything we can do?" Mark asks with his hands against his hips.

"No. All we can do. . .is wait."

----------

"None of them can see you, Leven."

Her left hand extends to latch onto the wrist of my right, pulling me around the corner. Instead of the hospital, we're in a dollar store.

Specifically, the dollar store near Burke's apartment.

"Cristina?"

Still in her pale blue scrubs, Cristina Yang pushes a cart through every single aisle of the convenience store, dropping various items into her cart.

"Iona, what are we doing here?"

"You subconsciously wanted to see your friend. I'm just your guide."

With a cart full of the most random things she can pick out, Cristina slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out a wallet.

"Is that. . .is that a picture of us?"

The clear slip in every standard wallet, meant for an I.D. or a driver's license, sits a tattered image of me, Meredith, and Cristina, taken around Christmas time.

"But she hates the holidays."

"That doesn't mean she hates her friends."

"Will that be all?" The cashier finishes scanning each item and dropping them carelessly into the cart. "Ma'am?"

Cristina snaps from her trance. "Sorry? Actually, can I. . .can I get a king size Snickers bar?"

"Wait, she hates processed candy bars." I furrow my brows. "All she raves about are those health-nut dark chocolate granola bars Burke introduced her to."