Don't own anything.

This idea spurred from a fragment of a (I presume to be) fanfiction I came across om tumblr. It was of George and Lexie meeting on the elevator. I suppose it could serve as a sequel. Mark & Arizona never got closure, so I thought this was rather fitting - as he slipped into a coma about the same time that she started crashing.

The blonde woman opened her eyes and walked down the long corridor ahead of her. Everything seemed just as natural as it appeared, although the place was clearly deserted. She tried to recall what had brought her there, but it was to no avail. Her memory seemed to have been fleeting with each step she took down the hallway.

The hallway was unusually bright, the further she walked, the brighter the illumination. She had a slight urge to look behind her, but dismissed the thought. It seemed to her that all of her thoughts were quickly dismissed and forgotten, as soon as they arose.

She was in a plain, cloth gown - thin, designed for patients. She felt the smooth material brush against the skin underneath as she strolled down the hallway.

She didn't question why she wore it, it seemed to have been an innate idea - that it was natural.

That everything about this was natural.

She walked down now, and could finally see the hallway coming to an end ahead of her.

There was a single elevator, along with a tall, broad shouldered man standing in front of it, his back turned from her.

She slowed her pace and narrowed her somber, blue eyes. She seemed to recall him - as if he were a part of the recent past. She walked up to the elevator and stood next to the man. She looked up at him.

He was wearing a black suit, the one worn for occassions of formality. Ideally, weddings and funerals.

The woman wondered which one he was attending.

"Are you waiting for the elevator?" she asked.

He acted as if he did not hear her; however, slowly shifting his gaze to meet her own. It seemed he had not even noticed her until she called out to him, which was peculiar, she thought - they were the only two standing there, in that desolate white space, waiting for an elevator that seemed to never arrive.

"Yeah, I am. I've got to get somewhere, I can't be late," he told her.

"Where are you going?" she discerned, she wanted to know which of the two he would be attending.

"A wedding. Then a funeral," he answered.

It baffled the woman a little - how this man could attend two events that so blatantly contrasted each other. This juxtaposition sent a shiver down her spine. How strange was it that a simple suit could be used in two extremes.

More than that, she felt sorrowful for this man. She felt pangs in her chest and her throat tightened. She was suddenly parched, her lungs seemed to suffocate themselves.

Before she realized it, tears streamed down her blue eyes.

"Who's?" she asked, with quivering lips and a hoarse voice.
"Mine," he told her, reaching out to cup her chin.
"Both?" she asked him.
"Both," he answered, gently thumbing away the streak of tears that flowed from her eyes.
"Y-you shouldn't go.." she told him, as he pulled his hand away.

Just then, the elevator arrived, opening to reveal its salmon colored walls.

The man smiled at her and stepped in. She rushed in to join him.

"You shouldn't be on here," he told her, as the doors shut.

There were several buttons of designated floors, none of which the blonde woman could make out. The man pressed one of the top ones.

"I think I should. I want to see you get married," she stammered through her words, trying to believe them.

"I saw you get married, I think that ought to be enough" he told her.
"Married? Me? Do you know who I am?" she asked him.
"I do."
"Tell me!"
"I can't."
"Why?"
"You're going to lose yourself soon, but you, and only you have to reclaim that part of you again. I can't do it for you. I'm dead, blondie. I'm dead," he told her, pressing another button.

The blonde woman said nothing, but averted her gaze to the elevator floor, trying to process what he had said. As her eyes wandered, she noticed that one of her legs were missing. In place of it was a metallic structure. Alarmed, she let out a gasp.

The elevator was still going up now, but the woman could not stop staring at the metallic structure. She quickly turned her head to the man, who was now looking at her. She seemed to understand what was happening.

"My-my"
"You can't die yet."
"M-my leg.."
"It's gonna be hard."
"The leg!"
"But.."
"The leg!"
"You can't die yet."

The elevator doors opened, and the man shoved her out.

"Mark! My leg, my leg!" she yelled now, connecting the face to a name.

He stared at her intently. She wanted to rush back into the elevator, but she found herself unable to move. She looked down again, only to find the metallic structure gone. It was replaced by a stump, a fragmented part of her leg. She could not run to him.

"Mark, Mark!" she yelled, reaching out her hands.

She wanted to go back in, to rush in and go to wherever he was going. 'We'd go home together,' she remembered. Together, together. But isn't that what they had done?

She stretched out her hands, and her attention was suddenly caught by a glitter from her left hand. She stopped herself and looked at it.

A ring. A golden, wedding ring.

She looked over it, remembering the warmth and memories that came with the tiny thing. Intangible feelings packed into a trivial object.

She looked over at Mark now, and he smiled warmly at her, before the elevator doors shut.

Callie, she remembered.

Callie.

Arizona Robbins opened her eyes to discover her wife looking at her with a guilt ridden face.
She couldn't quite remember her dream, but a swam of unbearable emotions took hold of her.

"It's gone, isn't it?"