The Chief is trying to contain his amusement at the scene in front of him: the father of one of his surgeons trying to get his daughter transferred to a hospital in Miami. Mr. Torres smoothly offers that he knows Richard has invested his time in Callie and so he'll donate whatever sum will make up for that. The Chief tries not to laugh as he points out that Callie is a grown woman, and a not-amused Torres asks him if he has kids. He then lectures Richard about how if he had a daughter, he'd know that her being grown means nothing, because she will always be a little girl that needs protecting, even from herself. Still talking hypothetically, he basically says he knows Callie thinks he doesn't love her but this is the opposite, and he's fighting for her. He's a man clearly used to only ever getting his way, and not used to his life detouring off of a carefully planned path, both for himself and his family.

Smith runs into the room where Bailey is still holding Jessica, who is now audibly fighting for breath. He's completely crazed, and wonders aloud if he should just take his daughter to the airport and beg to be let on a plane. Bailey keeps trying to cut but he finally cries out for her not to make him stop. In a soft but firm voice, Bailey says she doesn't want to, but reminds him that Jessica is terminal and going to die in a few moments. She also points out that as of right now, the last person to hold her is going to be Bailey or a nurse. "Or it could be you." She pleads with him not to miss this, because Jessica needs her daddy. Jessica then wakes long enough to ask if they are going to Mexico, and it's what Smith needs to pull him into the present. He starts to bawl as he crawls into bed with her and tells her that they are going to Mexico, just the two of them, with the sun and the sand and no more doctors or hospitals. Bailey sits back in the rocker and watches them sadly; when the monitor begins to beep she turns it off so Smith doesn't have to hear or see the flatline while he holds his daughter for the last time. Seriously, kudos in real life to whoever has the fortitude to work with kids, because I would never be strong enough to deal with all the loss of short lives like this. I can barely handle it in the world of television.

Cristina is looking at Izzie's chart now that she is legitimately sick, and she tries to make optimistic small talk. Izzie used up all of her joy when she made her friends think she was dying, and isn't interested in being upbeat anymore -- she tells Cristina not to make it out as better than it is, because she is sick. Cristina reminds her what she seems to have forgotten, that she got a high dose of IL2 that day and this is how she's supposed to feel. Izzie admits that she just wanted to flip through magazines and be the same person she was when she woke up, but she isn't. She's just another patient trapped inside a cancer-ravaged body. Cristina looks troubled, but I'm not -- this rings so hollow for me since she was such an asshole earlier. Seriously, my sympathy is gone for someone who can act as Izzie did all day.