𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ━━ 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐝

sixty five | siren

Wrong place, wrong time.

The story of my life since the day I was born to whatever day I may die.

Which only seems to be coming sooner with the growing number of tragedies to have occurred in less than three years.

Although I can't see down the front of my scrub top, the red stains coating the tip of my fingers shine light on the damage that has been done.

April gasps over top of me when Clark points his gun at her.

"My name-My name is April Kepner, I'm 28 years old. I-I was born on April 23 in O-Ohio. I'm from Columbus, Ohio. Um, my mom-my mom is a teacher, and m-my dad is a farmer — corn. C-Corn — he-he-he grows corn. Their-Their names are Karen and Joe."

Over the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my head, the gun click resonates above all.

"I have three sisters. Libby's the oldest. I'm-I'm next, and then there's Kimmie, then Alice. I-I-I-I haven't done anything yet. I haven't — I've barely lived. I-I'm not finished yet. No one'se loved me yet. Please. Please. I'm someone's child. I'm a person."

A cough rattles through my aching chest.

"I'm a person."

"Run."

The single word sends a crying April Kepner through the doors she'd entered from and out of sight.

Before Clark could threaten Derek with the same silent trance, his attention drifts to the S.W.A.T. members entering down below.

"Derek. . .I love you."

Those four words are the last thing I utter before darkness consumes me.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Derek, you, um, you prep her. And Meredith, April, and I are gonna go find Teddy. She should still be on this floor."

"Okay."

"Okay, everything is gonna be fine. Okay? I promise."

The three women split ways from the neurosurgeon, who instantly returns to his wife's bedside.

Leven grows more pale by the second, blood having only recently ceased from the bullet hole in her abdomen.

"It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

"You. . .look dead."

A laugh eats away at the remaining bit of strength she has. A helpless Derek looks onward before nuzzling his nose to her cheek, smoothing soft kisses over her blue lips.

"Two bullet wounds. . .and you've been by my side. . .both times."

He falls to his knees at her bedside, an abundant flow of tears following. "Leven, don't die. Please don't die."

". . .I promise."

"Good."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Shoot me."

Clark's gaze turns away from Cristina, although his gun remains at her temple.

"Derek."

Owen Hunt, who'd reentered the hospital upon hearing that Cristina is still inside, mutters to himself under his breath.

"You want justice, right?" The chief of surgery stares down the killer — the murderer — obstructing his wife's surgery. "Your wife died. I'm the one who told you we had to take her off life support. I'm the one who told Lexie Grey to pull the plug on your wife. I'm the one who told Dr. Webber he was gonna lose a patient. And the woman on that table. . .has done nothing to hurt you."

Cristina looks back ever so slightly over her shoulder.

"Derek."

"Shoot me. I'm your eye for an eye."

Suddenly inspired by the neurosurgeon's words, Clark stalks over to him with his gun pointed directly at his chest.

"Tell Leven that I love her and that I'm sorry I couldn't give her the future she deserves."

"D-D-Derek —"

Owen startles everyone in the room when he makes a sudden movement to leap between the gap of Derek and the weapon.

Only for a bullet to enter his shoulder.

"No! No! No!"

Cristina's cries echo in the confined room.

- - - - - - - - - -

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

For me. . .I knew the second my eyes shut that I wouldn't die.

Because the only thing in my head is the most recent — the most fond — memory to have occurred only a few short days ago.

And how I never received the chance to tell him.

- - - - - - - - - -

"I see you've chosen to take advantage of our friendship. . .for my bathroom."

Leven hobbles into Meredith's kitchen, a purple sherpa blanket thrown over her trembling figure and a half-empty bottle of mouthwash in hand.

"I've never been sick in front of him, Mer." The hoarseness in her voice is evident after the hours of vomiting. "I've almost met death a few times in his presence, but never the flu."

"You're married, Leven. It's not like he's gonna care." The homeowner shoves a plate of plain toast in her direction, something to ease whatever stomach bug's decided to invade her stomach.

"In sickness and in health is just a saying."

The doorbell chimes.

"That's probably your doting husband in search of the love of his life."

As the woman exits out to the foyer, Leven slips a hand into her sweatpant pocket and pulls out a thin piece of plastic.

The two pink lines blaring at her like a siren.

- - - - - - - - - -

"We got her."