"Why are we making food again?"

"It's what you do when someone dies. You cook."

"Making sandwiches is not the same thing as cooking."

"Which is why I'm making chicken noodle soup."

I stir the pot of boiling chicken broth, slices celery, halved carrots, and pieces of rotisserie chicken — thank you, Costco.

Meredith spreads mayo across each bottom bread with a butter knife before placing various slices of cheese over them.

"Have either of you seen my wristwatch?" With a frown, I glance at my empty wrist. "I swear, I had it last night."

"You're hiding something, Leven." Cristina accused while flipping through a copy of People magazine.

"What makes you think I'm hiding something?"

"You just have. . .a look."

If someone even mentions that word again, I'm transferring out of Seattle.

"Can we focus on Izzie? You know, since Denny died." I remind them of the reason we've all been at Meredith's house since the prom. "Cristina, Burke got shot."

"So did you."

"I had a minor cut."

"And a collapsed lung."

"God, did you read my file or something?"

I dip a metal spoon into the pot and lift it up to Meredith, who approves of the taste of the soup after one mouthful.

She offers me half of her sandwich. "Why'd you run off earlier?" Meredith questions. "You were at the food table, and then you were gone."

"Oh. Yeah, I. . ."

"Spill it, Leven."

"Derek kissed me the night I was injured."

"And. . .?"

"And he kissed me again last night. In an exam room."

A rant session with the three women begins promptly at the dining table. Cristina has long set aside the magazine and instead is focused on the story.

"You guys had sex?"

"Oh, God, no. It was a. . .very long kiss."

"Last night, you and McDreamy kissed."

"And the night before."

Meredith soothes me by rubbing my back. "We're not judging you, okay? We're just. . .trying to wrap our heads around this."

"Believe me. . .I would be judging myself if I was in your shoes." My head rests against the cold wood of the table. "He's still married."

"Did he say anything afterwards?"

"No. Torres came in to tell me what happened. . .to Izzie."

"What about before?"

"He said something about me being a breath of air after drowning." I run a hand over the back of my head. "I told him not to fall for a dying woman, and he said it was too late."

"Is Shepherd leaving his wife?" Cristina sits up in her chair with sudden interest.

----------

Iona Allard-Phoenix, mother of Leven Phoenix and ex-spouse to Lennox Phoenix, charges towards the door with her entire life packed into suitcases.

"Lennox, I am through with your ridiculous nature and absurd behavior!"

Lennox Phoenix, father of Leven Phoenix and still in love with his separated wife, follows her in an attempt to change her mind.

"Iona, don't do this. Please don't do this."

"I gave you one year." She lifts a stern finger. "One year to prove to me that I should stay here with you and. . .and your daughter."

"She's your daughter, too."

"Not anymore, she isn't."

----------

Ding-dong.

I walk towards the glass door and see Dr. Torres standing on the other side with two brown bags stuffed with food.

"Sorry, George isn't home."

"No, I-I know." Her brows furrow lightly. "He's in a quarantine 'cause of a-a thing. I was off-duty, and I was going crazy because I was worried about him. And I thought about Izzie, so I brought food." She ends her verbal flurry of thoughts.

"Come in."

"And relax. I'm not gonna bring up the whole you and McDreamy and the kiss. I'm not that kind of a person."

"That's good to know."

"Where's the third member of your girl band?"

"Upstairs in the bathroom. With Izzie."

Callie completely takes over in the kitchen department, preparing sauces for pastas and baking God knows what in the oven.

"Phoenix, you're acting like a child."

"I'm a vegan, Torres. Meredith put meat in her sandwiches, and chicken is meat — and I'm starving."

"That doesn't constitute me giving you raw cookie dough."

----------

"Derek."

"Leven."

The middle-aged doctor stands outside of my childhood home, wearing a maroon red button-down and blue jeans.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm. . .visiting my father."

He lifts a gentle brow, surprised at my response. He's known my father for some years now and heard his story of how he lost me. But never once has he asked me for my side.

"For the first time?"

"Yeah. For the first time."

Instead of walking away like I would've expected him to, he swings open the door and holds it open for me.

"I'll just —"

"Would it be easier if you had some support?"

"That would be. . .really nice, actually."

Even when I didn't think I needed him, I sort of did. If he hadn't been there at the same time as me — if he or I had delayed a second — he wouldn't have been there. . .

And I never might have rekindled my relationship with my father.

----------

"Hi, Izzie."

Inside the bathroom, still dressed in her strapless pink prom dress, the young intern lays across the cold floor.

"I honestly don't know what to say to you." I lay down next to her, noticing the distant look in her eyes. "All I'm going to say is. . .you're not alone."

She slightly opens her mouth. "How did this happen?" A tearful gasp slips. "How-How did we end up here?"

"Faith works in mysterious ways."

"Faith. . .sucks."

By the time I complete my few minutes with Izzie, darkness has taken over the sky. I grab my purse and bid the other two goodbye before making my way towards the door.

George walks in through the front door.

"Oh my God." Callie rushes into the foyer, launching herself onto the distraught intern. "Oh my God. I was so worried. Really worried."

Derek follows behind, stepping so as to not disturb the reunited couple. We walk into the empty kitchen, the faint smell of fresh baked goods still in the atmosphere.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He takes a couple of steps towards me. "I was going to come over this morning. To your place. But, uh —"

"The quarantine, I know." I nod my head. "What did you want to say?"

"Huh?"

"This morning. What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say that. . .I'm in love with you."

"Derek —"

"You can take as much or as little time as you need." His hand touches the top of my own, squeezing it gently. "Because I don't want you to regret making the wrong choice."

All I can do is smile sadly. "And you have a choice to make, too."

"And what is that?"

"Either you stay with your current wife. . ."

"Or?"

"Or you pursue a relationship with me."