Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's. If I had then all this would have been real. Or maybe not, because who would want a plane carrying the doctors to crash?

Title is from the Snow Patrol song of the same name. This is my first Maddison fic, please be kind. Excuse any typographical or grammatical error I may have made.

I love both them and Slexie, although if given a choice I'd still choose Maddison over anything any day. This fic is an attempt to give both Mark and Addison the happy ending they should have had with each other… because I never could stand the thought of them not ending up together. The story format is kind of weird – it basically shifts from past to present and vice versa but don't worry, you won't be confused because past events are all in italics. I'll explain the timeline at the end so you guys understand some things, because I changed a boatload of stuff. I apologize for the length, hopefully you won't get lazy reading it but I swear the ending is worth it. Gave it my best – this thing is literally my baby. LMAO. I decided to upload it in parts because it's way too damn long if I upload it in whole.

I apologize for the long A/N. And also; I kind of tweaked the scene wherein Cristina finds out Mark has a cardiac tamponade.

Enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think through a review!

-i-

"You're okay," she breathes against his dark-blonde wisps, "you're okay, Mark. We're okay. We're going to be fine. We're okay."

He doesn't reply. He instead shifts himself so he can see her better—he's barely moved an inch before he cries out in pain again. She winces at the sound and berates him slightly, telling him not to move as he risked reopening the cut Meredith had made to drain blood from his pericardium. She steadies him; setting his head against her lap and cradling him in her arms in an attempt to calm both him and herself down.

Mark grunts in pain repeatedly; she has to bite her lips each time he does so as to restrain herself from outright sobbing which would, no doubt, destroy the tranquility they had finally achieved after hours of panicked frenzy. She begins to cry silently instead, letting her tears fall in endless cascades against her alabaster skin. She quiets Mark when he begins to stir against her arms upon noticing her tear-stained face. Everything seemed so uncertain; so out of control—not one of them knew exactly when help was going to come, or if it was ever going to come. Jerry, the pilot, had told them that it'd take at least four hours to find them, but she wasn't even sure Mark had four more hours.

The thought Mark dying made her want to fall into pieces and spontaneously combust—she couldn't live without him. He can't die—not now; not when everything in her life had finally fallen into place.

She remembers with an atrabilious clarity waking up to his worried face; fear etched on his delicate features as he asked her: "Addison, are you okay?" over and over again. Dread overcame her even as she assured him repeatedly that yes, she was fine and no, she wasn't hurt. How was it that just a few hours earlier everything was fine and the only thing they both were concerned about was whether or not they would have dinner the next night outside or at home, where they could order Chinese, watch a movie, and sleep in afterwards?

In the distance she could hear Meredith and Cristina shouting incoherently and someone she didn't recognize crying out in pain as Mark carefully helped her up. They were both seated at the back of the plane—it was the part that tore off; she was lucky she'd received only cuts and not something more. She hadn't known yet that Mark had received more than just cuts; that he had received a major underlying injury that would only manifest hours later when they least expected it—an injury that might kill him if he wasn't given proper medical care immediately.

If circumstances were different, she thinks, much more different than this one, she supposes might have found Mark crushed under one of the plane parts or he would have found her crushed against said parts instead. The thought made her shiver, but really: not much comfort could be gained from the fact that neither of them had been crushed against anything because the possibility was high that Mark could die in the woods either way.

Mark led her to the plane crash's main site where they found Arizona, the source of the cries, leaning against one of the plane's engines. Arizona's leg was bleeding profusely; she had previously ripped off her pant leg to expose the wound—the femur had jutted out, Arizona was in shock and, judging by the way the leg looked, it needed to be operated on immediately or else it could end up getting amputated. She did all that could be done with what they had: she cleaned, bandaged, and splintered Arizona's leg as Mark stabilized the pilot's C-spine—though, unfortunately, the pilot was already paralyzed from the hip down and would never again gain function over the affected parts.

Meredith and Cristina found Derek, hand crushed and bleeding, a ways away from the main site and carried him back—though his hand was bandaged, Cristina had to sew the wound up using a safety pin in order to save the hand as she, Meredith, and Mark did their best to restrain him as he cried out in pain.

The commotion had died after that; with only Cristina making noise as she relentlessly bantered about the importance of finding sustenance if ever they weren't rescued soon. She and Mark had been sitting next to each other with her head on Mark's shoulder as she absentmindedly fiddled with the ring on her finger, wondering how lucky they were to have been spared the others' fate. She was quickly proven wrong, however, when she looked up to ask Mark whether or not he thought they were ever going to be rescued and saw his slack jaw and the deathly pallor his face sported.

"Mark?" she quickly called out. She retracted away from him; causing him to fall to ground, his back facing her— it was then that she screamed his name, catching the others' attention, "Mark!"

Cristina ran to their side immediately, followed by Meredith and surprisingly, Derek. Cristina turned Mark over, scanning his head, arms, hands, legs, and almost every part of his body to find a wound before ultimately ripping his scrub top off, exposing his chest. Mark's chest had a reddish-purple hue to it; in her mind she scrambled for possible internal injuries Mark might have sustained from the crash. Cristina quickly bent her head against Mark's face, listening to his breathing as she, immobilized by shock and panic, sobbed against Derek's chest.

"It's a cardiac tamponade," Cristina declared after listening to Mark's breathing. "I need an ultrasound to be completely sure but, if it is a cardiac tamponade, we need to drain the fluid from his pericardial sac immediately to relieve the pressure."

"How?" she heard Derek ask, "We need an 18-gage needle. We don't have an 18-gage needle."

"No," she cried, withdrawing her face from Derek's chest, "you can't. No. What if you puncture the wrong part? He'll die."

"He'll die either way if we don't do this." Cristina argued.

"Addison—" Meredith started, but she cut her off.

"No!" she shouted, "No. There has to be some other way."

She bawled; her body wracked with sobs as the harsh reality set within her. "You can't," she managed to stutter out, "There has to be – there has to be some other way. I can't let—"

"Addie," Derek said forcefully, holding her at arm's length using his good hand, "Addison. Calm down. This is the only thing we can do to ensure Mark lives through this. Think of Mark. Think of your baby, Addison. Your baby needs a father."

She selfishly hadn't been thinking about the baby. Her baby, their baby—her and Mark's baby. The baby that had been growing inside her for 21 weeks; the child that was half her and half Mark—the miracle child. If Mark died, she'd end up raising their child all by herself – their child would never know who Mark was. She couldn't imagine a world like that. This was Mark's only chance – she knew that.

"If you puncture the wrong part my baby won't have a father, Derek." she countered.

"We need to do this now or he dies," Cristina said, "His heart won't handle the pressure if we don't drain the fluid soon."

"Can we use this?" Meredith then asked, holding up a clear, long, plastic tube she'd found while rummaging the first-aid kit they'd brought along with them.

"Addison, please," Derek pleaded, "chances are we puncture the wrong part, chances are we don't. If we don't, Mark lives. He gets to see another day and your baby will have a father. We're running out of time. We need to drain the fluid now."

"Do it," she decided after taking a long, lasting look at her husband who was clearly in an incredible amount of pain. Derek was right. Mark needed to live. "Please."

"Hold him down," Cristina ordered, "If he moves while we do it we might risk rupturing something else."

She and Derek had held Mark down while Cristina guided Meredith as she carefully inserted the tube into Mark's chest. Her vision blurred from the tears; edges became softer and the world seemed as if it were different splashes of moving color. She was able to distinguish the blood—Mark's blood—as it squirted out of the tube, however.

"We did it," Meredith said afterwards, her tone a tone of disbelief and amazement. "We didn't puncture anything. We drained the blood. Mark is fine—he's going to be fine, Addison. We did it."

"Thank you," she replied through her tears, "thank you."

"Red?" Mark weakly calls out, snapping her out of her reverie—she hadn't noticed she was already bent over and was crying all over Mark's hair.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, "don't move, Mark. Stay still."

"Don't cry." Mark berates her, "I'm not going anywhere, Addie. I'm right here. You need to calm yourself down; stress isn't good for the baby."

"I know, but—I love you, Mark. So much." she whispers against his ear; so quiet that no one could hear despite the quiet that surrounded them, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you."

"I love you too, Red." answers Mark, "You'll never lose me. You know that."

"It's just—" she breathes, "—I thought I was going to. Almost, Mark. Almost."

"I meant it when I promised you I wouldn't leave," Mark reminds her, "and I won't. I don't plan on going anywhere, Addison. Now stop crying and stop stressing yourself out; you're stressing Emma, too."

"You don't know if it's a girl, Mark," she tells him. It was a girl—she had known the moment she set her eyes on the ultrasound they had done last week during her 20-week check-up. Mark knew that she knew, of course, because she had told him that she couldn't resist peeking just once—but he had still insisted that she not tell him. "It could be a boy. You could be wrong."

"I'm always right. I know it's a girl." He looks at her with his classic grin and she finds herself grinning, too. Mark always knew how to make her smile—even now, even when he was the one who needed cheering up. "You're a bad liar, Red. You give yourself too much credit."

"No, I don't!" she laughs.

She brushes through his locks with her fingers while keeping a hand on her belly—she feels the flutters again; taking note of the fact that she may full well finally feel it kicking from the outside sooner rather than later. The flutters had increased in frequency the past few days; on her last check-up the doctor had told her that yes, she should expect to feel the baby finally kick soon—not that she hadn't known already. It felt different to be on the other side of things – she was the patient now and not the doctor.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't die."

"I promise."

-ii-

"Have a fellow or another attending go instead," Mark tells her for the nth time, trailing her as she made her way to a patient's room who was scheduled for a hysterectomy. "You're five months pregnant, Addison. Pregnant women aren't supposed to go on planes. Pregnant women aren't supposed to be performing surgeries that require them standing almost the whole day."

"I'm the best in the field, Mark," she answers, using the same line she used on him last time. "You know that. Don't use the pregnant card on me, it isn't going to work. You're going, too—tell me: do you not want to spend the day with your wife?"

"Not when she's 21 weeks pregnant and needs to slow down," Mark counters. "Addie, you know I'm only doing this because I love you and I care about you and our child."

She abruptly stops just in front of her patient's door, and turns around to face her husband. "I know that. I'll take breaks every three hours so I don't tire myself out. I love you, too—" "—but I'm still performing the surgery with you and the others in Boise."

-iii-

Mark codes the first time a few hours later; the sun had since set and the fire from the last of their matches had been quickly blown away by the wind. It was cold; so cold that she was shivering despite the thick jacket she had on her that bore the names Addison Sloan and Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital. She tried to shield Mark from the freezing temperature the best she could, wrapping his jacket around him and everything else she could find that could help retain heat to no avail—he was trembling just as much as she was.

It takes her awhile to notice that his chest no longer bobbed up and down against her hand. She starts calling out his name repeatedly at once, hoping that she might be wrong and was only imagining things—but when he doesn't answer or react at all she screams. Cristina is quick to come, but Meredith still lay sleeping next to Derek as if nothing was happening. She didn't blame Meredith—she herself was just as tired as the resident was.

She seemed rooted to the spot; seemingly unable to move or act as Cristina took control of the entire situation. All she could do was watch as Cristina Yang resuscitated her husband through CPR. She was a doctor; a surgeon—she should have known better. She should have started chest compressions as soon as she noticed—and she would have, if it had been any other person but this was Mark. Now her husband was going to die because she couldn't get it together and perform CPR on him as soon as she could.

Mark's eyes jolt awake and he takes a deep breath just as Cristina breathes a sigh of relief.

She doesn't notice the tears streaming down her face until a hand—Mark's hand—brushes them off. She looks up and sees him looking at her in worry; as if she had been the one who needed to be resuscitated just moments ago.

"Stop it." "I'm alive, Ad. Stop the waterworks." He rasps.

"Don't you ever do that again," she reprimands him as if he could control what she had just asked of him.

If he died… she doesn't want to think about what'll happen to her. She knows it isn't going to be good. She might go crazy; she might just… die, too—she knew she was being selfish what with a child, their child, on the way but she couldn't help but think of all the things that might happen to her if Mark died.

She loved him too much. That was a fact. And if she lost him, she might as well have lost herself.

-iv-

"You're pregnant, Addison. Says here you are."

"No, I'm not." she counters. "For the last time, I can't get pregnant. Take my blood again."

"I'm not going to. You're pregnant. Either you believe it or you don't, but the test isn't wrong."

"Alex—I'm serious. I can't get pregnant. It's impossible."

"Not so impossible now." "You've always wanted a baby, now you've got one. With your husband. He's your husband now, not your husband's best friend. Don't tell me you're going to abort another one of his babies."

"I'm not. It's just—if it is true, it's a miracle."

"It's true. You've got yourself a miracle."

"I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant. Now stop it and teach me like the good attending you're supposed to be. My favorite attending."

"Stop patronizing me, Karev."

"Come on—back to saving babies. You can talk about it with Callie and Arizona and Teddy or something after."

Finding a place that sold Yankees onesies in Seattle proved to be almost impossible—until she, Arizona, Callie, and Teddy finally stumbled upon a small thrift shop near the edge of the city that had just the one she wanted. They went to the bar afterwards, where she bid farewell to the ladies after one glass of ginger ale. It was a good thing the apartment she shared with Mark was near Joe's and she could easily walk the short distance needed to get to it.

Mark wasn't home when she arrived—his shift had ended ten minutes ago; she supposed he stayed in a little while to check in on his patients before leaving. Her heart pounded like a drum inside her chest as she nervously waited for him to come home—she didn't know how he would take to the news. He wanted Sloan's baby; he wanted to be a father to it and felt sad when Sloan gave the baby away instead—she knew he was a changed man and wanted to be a father more than anything. He would be thrilled, no doubt, but still: the thought of telling him terrified her to her wits' end.

She stands the moment she hears the doorknob turn and the door itself open. She holds the Yankees onesie and calendar tightly in hand, afraid that she might accidentally drop it due to nervousness—she wanted to tell him now; to drop the bomb and be done with it but when she opens her mouth to say it she finds herself unable to.

"Hey, babe." Mark walks towards her and gives her a kiss—he hadn't noticed what she had in hand yet. "What did the doctor say? Was it the flu? I was right, wasn't I?"

She was 6 weeks pregnant as stated on the test, which means the baby might have been conceived during the steamy shower sex they had had after the long, grueling day at work. There was no chance of her ever getting pregnant, which was why they never used protection. The baby was a miracle – though they both wanted children, Mark was more than willing to give the chance of being a father up for her even when she had told him many times that she was barren and couldn't ever give him children.

"It isn't the flu, Mark." He was now scouring the fridge for food but unfortunately, she hadn't had the chance to get groceries yet which meant that the fridge had almost nothing in it – just a few fruits and vegetables and leftovers from the other night.

"What do you mean it 'isn't the flu,' Ad?" He turns around, worry etched on his face as he continues, "Are you sick? Is it cancer? Tell me, Addison. What do you—"

He sees what she has in hand, and it finally registers within him. "You're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant." she says with a smile on her face; the biggest one she'd ever given him.

He embraces her tightly; she feels small within his arms as he lifts her up and spins her around as they laugh loudly. She felt as if she were in cloud nine: everything in her life had finally fallen into place and finding out she was pregnant felt like the cherry on top of everything. "You're pregnant, Addison. We're going to have a baby. Can you believe it?"

"I know. I couldn't either," she tells him, "I was going to have Alex run another test to make sure but he wouldn't. It's a miracle."

"Our special miracle," he replied, gently laying a hand atop her lower abdomen. "I love you, Addison Montgomery-Sloan. You've made me the happiest man in the world. I can't thank you enough."