LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 10: Back Home
Jamie stepped into Joe's Bar, the familiar scent of aged wood and whiskey settling around him like a worn-in jacket. It was late—late enough that most of the after-shift crowd had cleared out, leaving behind only a few scattered regulars nursing their drinks in comfortable silence.
He made his way to the bar, nodding to the bartender he didn't recognize.
"Whiskey. Neat."
The glass slid across the counter a moment later. Jamie wrapped his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his skin before taking a slow sip. The burn was familiar, sharp enough to cut through the exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
He was back. He was alive. He was home.
And yet, it didn't feel like it.
Just when everything started getting better, it came crashing down on him again.
"Maybe I really am cursed," Jamie muttered under his breath.
The thought barely settled before someone slid onto the stool beside him.
"You look like hell," came the familiar voice.
Jamie went silent before even turning his head.
Derek Shepherd, still in his scrubs, sleeves rolled up, looking more amused than surprised to see him.
"Wasn't expecting you back so soon."
Jamie let out a quiet laugh. "Neither was I."
Derek leaned against the bar, ordering his usual before giving Jamie a long, assessing look. "You disappeared for almost a week. No word, no nothing. Now you're back, looking like you wrestled a bear and lost. Should I be worried?"
Jamie stared into his whiskey for a beat before answering. "Probably."
Derek exhaled. "That bad?"
Jamie rolled the glass between his fingers, feeling the condensation against his skin. He wanted to talk. But most of what he wanted to say was locked behind clearance levels and classified files.
He was used to it. Bury it deep and don't think about it, they always said.
But that wasn't working anymore.
So he gave what he could.
"An old mentor of mine. From the Army." Jamie's voice was quiet, words measured. "He got into trouble. Couldn't get out."
Derek didn't interrupt. Just waited.
Jamie took another sip before continuing. "I had to go get him. Pulled him out. Operated on him. Twice." He exhaled through his nose, fingers tightening slightly around the glass. "Nearly didn't make it out myself."
Derek frowned. "Jesus."
Jamie let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah."
Derek studied him. "You ran into a war zone for one guy?"
Jamie's gaze flicked to him, unwavering. "Yeah."
Derek searched his face, then nodded slightly. "Guess that checks out."
Jamie smirked faintly, shaking his head.
Derek took a sip of his drink, watching him over the rim of his glass. "Did you at least save him?"
Jamie's grip on his whiskey loosened slightly. "Yeah."
Derek nodded slowly, waiting a beat before asking, "And you?"
Jamie raised a brow.
"You almost died," Derek clarified. "So how are you?"
Jamie exhaled sharply, staring at the liquor in his glass. The past few days replayed in flashes behind his eyes—gunfire, the heat of an explosion, the weight of Ryan bleeding out beneath his hands.
His body was back in Seattle. His mind hadn't quite caught up.
Finally, he muttered, "I'm here."
Derek didn't look satisfied with that answer.
"That's not what I asked."
Jamie let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his glass. His ribs ached, his shoulder throbbed, and exhaustion pressed heavy against his skull.
But he was breathing.
And for now, that had to be enough. That's how it had always been.
"I'll be fine," Jamie said eventually.
Derek watched him for a moment longer, then nodded, accepting that for what it was.
Silence stretched between them, comfortable but weighted.
Then Derek leaned back slightly, his tone lighter. "So, are you actually back for good this time? Or should I keep expecting you to vanish every time someone from your past calls?"
Jamie answered. "I'm back."
Derek arched a brow. "You sure?"
Jamie huffed. "Yeah."
Derek smirked, finishing the last of his drink. "Good. Because Webber's gonna want an explanation. He's been covering for you. And 'I had a personal matter' isn't gonna cut it."
Jamie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll deal with it in the morning."
Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Right. Because you're totally planning on sleeping tonight."
Jamie smirked faintly. "Something like that."
The bartender came by, refilling both their drinks without a word.
Jamie picked up his glass, rolling it between his fingers. The past still clung to him, lingering just beneath the surface.
But for the first time in days, there was a sense of stillness.
Not peace. Not yet, if that ever came.
But something close.
And for now, he'd take what he could get.
The bar had emptied out even more by the time Jamie and Derek finished their drinks. The noise of conversations had faded, leaving only the low murmur of the television in the background and the quiet clinking of glasses behind the bar.
Jamie rolled his empty whiskey glass between his fingers, staring at the way the dim light refracted through the residue at the bottom. His mind was still buzzing—too many thoughts, too much adrenaline still in his system.
Across from him, Derek stretched, glancing at his watch before letting out a tired sigh. "Well, some of us have to be in the OR tomorrow morning."
Jamie smiled smugly. "Yeah, you look exhausted. You sure you don't need a nap before your morning brain surgery?"
Derek snorted. "I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, look like you could use about a week of sleep."
Jamie exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the barstool. Sleep wasn't coming. Not anytime soon.
Derek reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. He twirled them between his fingers before tossing them across the bar. Jamie caught them instinctively.
"Figured you'd want your car back," Derek said.
Jamie glanced at the keys, then at Derek. "You didn't scratch it, did you?"
Derek scoffed. "Please. I treated her better than you do. Even got her washed."
Jamie raised a brow. "Thoughtful."
Derek smirked, standing up and patting Jamie on the shoulder as he grabbed his coat. "Try not to get yourself arrested before your first shift back. Webber's already pissed."
Jamie escaped a quiet laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Derek gave him a final nod before heading for the door, leaving Jamie alone with his thoughts.
He glanced at the keys in his hand, rolling them between his fingers.
Home.
The thought of going back to his penthouse, back to the silence, the untouched bed, the empty space—it didn't sit right. Not yet.
Jamie stood, pocketing the keys before heading outside.
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The city was quiet at this hour, but Jamie didn't hold back.
The Aston Martin roared as he shifted gears, speeding through the empty streets, the lights blurring past him in streaks of white and red. The speed wasn't reckless, not quite. It was controlled, precise—it made his pulse slow instead of race.
The engine's growl filled the silence, the tires gripping the asphalt as he weaved through the deserted roads. He wasn't thinking about where he was going. He just needed to move.
His hands tightened on the wheel. His shoulder ached where the bullet had grazed him, but he barely felt it. The ghosts of the past few days still clung to him, every memory vivid, every decision replaying in the back of his mind.
He didn't want to go home.
Didn't want to be alone.
So he took the next turn, his path set before he even fully realized it.
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Jamie pulled up to the manor, the coming to a stop in the circular driveway. The grand house loomed ahead, its towering columns bathed in the soft glow of antique lanterns, the massive oak doors standing as imposing as ever.
The place hadn't changed. It never did.
It was the kind of home that carried weight—a blend of wealth and quiet power, built generations ago and maintained with a level of precision that bordered on obsessive. The manicured hedges, the stone fountain in the center of the driveway, the grand staircase beyond the entrance—this was where he spent his summers growing up, but it had never truly felt like home.
Jamie let out a slow breath, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before finally stepping out. He adjusted his jacket, rolling his sore shoulder before heading up the stone steps.
Before he could knock, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
James, the butler, stood there, perfectly composed, not the least bit surprised to see him. His silver hair was neatly combed back, and he wore a tailored suit despite the late hour—because of course he did.
"Master James," he greeted, voice smooth and unwavering. "Welcome home."
Jamie smiled, shaking his head. "You always know when I'm coming, don't you?"
James arched an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in. "Your grandmother suspected you would be paying us a visit tonight. The tea has already been prepared."
Jamie smile grew stronger as he stepped inside. The air smelled the same—old leather, polished wood, and something faintly reminiscent of pine and firewood. It was grounding, in a way.
James shut the doors behind him with a practiced ease before turning back. "Shall I inform the kitchen that you'll be needing something to eat?"
Jamie shook his head. "Not hungry."
James nodded knowingly. "Very well. She's in the library."
Of course she was.
Jamie adjusted his jacket again and made his way down the hall, his footsteps muted against the grand Persian rug. The manor was quiet at this hour, the faint crackling of a fireplace the only sound as he neared the library.
The doors were slightly ajar, and Jamie pushed them open gently.
His grandmother sat in her favorite leather chair, the fire casting flickering shadows across the mahogany bookshelves that lined the room. She was dressed in a silk robe, her silver hair pulled back elegantly. In one hand, she held a leather-bound book; in the other, a delicate porcelain teacup, steam curling into the air.
Without looking up, she turned a page.
"I was wondering when you'd stop brooding in your car and come inside," she mused.
Jamie exhaled, shaking his head as he stepped in. "You always do that?"
She finally looked up, sharp blue eyes assessing him. "I've had years of practice, dear." She closed the book, setting it aside before gesturing to the chair across from her. "Sit."
Jamie hesitated for half a second before obeying, sinking into the chair opposite hers.
Her gaze swept over him—taking in the bruises, the slight hitch in his movement, the exhaustion he was trying to hide.
"You've been through hell again," she stated, not a question, just fact.
Jamie eyebrow twitched slightly. "Yeah."
She tilted her head. "Do I want to know?"
Jamie ran a hand down his face, leaning back against the chair. "You know I can't talk about it."
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well."
Silence stretched between them, the fire crackling softly.
Then, her voice softened. "But you're alive."
Jamie let out a slow breath, nodding. "Yeah. I'm alive."
She took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. "Then that's enough for tonight."
Jamie glanced at the fire, watching the embers glow. He wasn't sure if it was enough. Not really. But right now, sitting in this chair, in this house that had once been too big for a kid like him—it felt close.
His grandmother leaned back, her expression knowing. "I assume you won't be going home tonight."
Jamie shook his head. "No."
She nodded, unsurprised. "James has already prepared your room."
Jamie smiled smugly. "Of course he has."
She simply picked up her book again, flipping it open to where she left off. "Get some rest, Jamie."
Jamie exhaled, running a hand through his hair before standing. "Goodnight, Grandma."
She didn't look up, but he could see the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Goodnight, mi amore."
Jamie stepped out of the library, quietly shutting the heavy wooden doors behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the silent hallway.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders, but the moment he took a step forward, he hesitated.
His grandmother was still inside, reading by the fire, her posture composed as always—but Jamie knew better. Staying up this late wasn't normal for her. She had been waiting for him.
A flicker of guilt settled in his chest.
She wouldn't say it outright, but he knew he had worried her. He always did.
For years, she had watched him walk into storms she couldn't protect him from. She had sent him off to war, knowing there was a chance he wouldn't come back. And even now, even after his days in uniform were over, he was still finding new ways to put himself in the line of fire.
Jamie let out a sigh, running a hand down his face.
Then, with a final glance at the library doors, he turned and headed upstairs.
There was no changing who he was. But at the very least, he could stop making her wait up for him.
Jamie climbed the grand staircase, his steps slow, the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. The manor was quiet, broken only by the faint ticking of a distant grandfather clock.
As he reached the second floor, he found James waiting outside his bedroom door, standing with the same unwavering composure he always had. In his hands, neatly folded, were a set of nightclothes.
Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. "You always know, don't you?"
James offered a small, knowing smile as he extended the clothes. "Some things never change, Master James."
Jamie took them, but before he could step past him, James' expression sobered. "You shouldn't frighten her like this."
Jamie stilled.
James met his gaze, voice steady but carrying the quiet weight of years of service, of loyalty—not just to Jamie, but to the family. "She already lost her husband. She already lost her daughter." He said slowly. "Losing you… might break her."
Jamie swallowed, his grip tightening slightly on the fabric in his hands.
He wanted to say it wouldn't happen. That she had nothing to worry about. That he wasn't going anywhere.
But they both knew that wasn't a promise he could make.
Jamie sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. That was one of the reasons I left the army" he said, voice quieter now.
James studied him for a moment longer, gave a small nod, then stepped aside, allowing Jamie to pass.. "Then try not to make a habit of this."
As Jamie pushed open the door to his room, he hesitated for just a second. Then, glancing back over his shoulder, he said, "Thanks, James."
The butler inclined his head. "Good night, Jamie."
Jamie nodded, stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
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Jamie woke up to soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows over the high ceilings and polished wooden beams above him.
For a moment, he just lay there, blinking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, his mind groggy with sleep. It wasn't his penthouse. The sheets weren't the smooth Egyptian cotton he was used to, and the air smelled faintly of old books, polished wood, and something floral.
Then it hit him.
The manor. His grandmother's house.
Memories of last night came rushing back—the bar, the drive, the conversation with his grandmother. He must have crashed here without a second thought.
Jamie grunted, rubbing his hands over his face before rolling onto his side. His eyes caught the vintage clock on the nightstand.
And then his stomach dropped.
8:27 AM.
Jamie shot up so fast the blankets tangled around his legs, nearly dragging him back down.
"Shit."
He was late.
Scrambling out of bed, he sprinted to the bathroom, flipping on the sink and splashing cold water onto his face before quickly brushing his teeth. No time for a shower. He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, grabbed his clothes from the chair, and threw them on with the kind of speed only pure adrenaline could fuel.
His shoulder protested at the sudden movement—reminding him of the bullet graze that was still healing—but he ignored it.
Seconds later, he was storming out of his room, bolting down the grand staircase.
Halfway down, he nearly crashed into James, who had been making his way up with perfect composure, a silver tray balanced in his hands.
"Sorry!" Jamie blurted as he sidestepped him, not slowing for even a second.
James, ever unshaken, merely arched an eyebrow, shifting the tray effortlessly out of harm's way. "Of course, sir."
Jamie took the last steps two at a time, heading straight for the door.
His grandmother's voice called from the dining room. "At least have some breakfast!"
"I'll eat at the hospital!" Jamie yelled over his shoulder, already pulling on his jacket.
By the time he swung the front door open and stepped outside, his Aston Martin was already waiting in the driveway, James having arranged it to be ready for him—as usual.
Inside the manor, James let out a quiet chuckle as he returned to his usual composure. He turned toward his employer, who had set down her teacup with a knowing smirk.
She sighed fondly. "Some things never change."
James smiled faintly. "No, ma'am. They do not."
And with that, they returned to their morning routine as Jamie's car roared to life outside, speeding down the long driveway and back toward the city.
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The hospital doors slid open as Jamie strode in, the sharp scent of antiseptic and freshly brewed coffee hitting him all at once. The familiar chaos of the morning rush was already in full swing—nurses moving between stations, residents scrambling to grab charts, patients being wheeled in for procedures.
Jamie adjusted his coat, running a hand through his hair as he made his way toward the elevators, trying to slip in unnoticed.
No such luck.
From the second floor landing, Dr. Richard Webber stood by the railing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Jamie slowed his pace. Well. That's not good.
Webber's gaze locked onto him with the kind of patience that wasn't patience at all—more like a calculated waiting game.
Jamie barely had time to process the incoming storm before Webber's voice rang out, firm and leaving no room for argument.
"Dr. Knight. My office. Now."
Jamie exhaled through his nose. "F*CK!"
A few nurses nearby exchanged looks. A couple of interns suddenly found their charts very interesting.
Jamie glanced at the clock. He was exactly forty-seven minutes late.
Could've been worse.
Still, he didn't argue. He just sighed, buttoned his coat, and made his way toward the inevitable lecture waiting for him upstairs.
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Jamie sat stiffly in front of Webber's desk, arms crossed as the Chief stared him down with that look—the one that said, You better have a damn good reason for this.
"Would you like to explain where exactly you've been, Dr. Knight?"
Jamie exhaled. "Personal matter."
Webber raised a brow. "That's all I'm getting?"
Jamie didn't waver. "That's all I can give."
Webber let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "One day you're here, the next you're off the face of the earth. No calls, no messages. No one knew if you were dead in a ditch or sipping cocktails on a beach."
Jamie smirked faintly. "Wish it had been the second one."
Webber didn't return the humor. "This hospital runs on trust. If I can't trust my attendings to show up, then I have a serious problem."
Jamie nodded. "Understood."
Webber leaned back, watching him carefully. "You were an intern once. You remember what it was like?"
Jamie frowned slightly. "Not really. I skipped my intern year. Got fast-tracked in New York."
Webber smirked. "Even better. Because today, you're going back to basics."
Jamie's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Webber tapped the OR schedule on his desk. "You're shadowing the interns. No surgeries, no consults, no authority. Just grunt work. Call it a refresher."
Jamie stared. "You're making me do an intern's workload?"
"No, I'm making you experience what you missed while running off to do God knows what." Webber's smirk faded. "You're a great surgeon, Jamie. But no one is above the job."
Jamie rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fine."
Webber gave a satisfied nod—right as the door swung open.
"Chief, you paged?"
Bailey stepped inside, clipboard in hand. The second she saw Jamie sitting there, her eyes narrowed.
"Should I come back later?"
Webber, unfazed, gestured toward her. "Bailey, I was just about to tell Dr. Knight here that he'll be spending the day shadowing the interns."
Bailey blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Jamie sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's my punishment for disappearing."
Bailey scoffed. "You've got to be kidding me."
Webber ignored her. "While he's at it, I need you to bring him up to speed on Dr. Stevens."
Bailey tensed slightly but kept her composure. "Legal cleared her?"
Webber nodded. "She's on probation. Strict parameters. Make sure she understands them."
"So now I've got an attending playing intern for the day?"
Jamie smirked. "Technically, I was never an intern, so… first time for everything."
Bailey shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"
Jamie shook his head. "No. But if it makes you feel better, I actually requested this."
Webber gave him a look. "You requested this?"
Bailey narrowed her eyes. "Why the hell would you do that?"
Jamie leaned forward, voice serious. "I know the interns work their asses off. I also know some of them struggle more than others. If I'm stuck doing grunt work, I might as well use it to get to know them—see how they operate. So yeah, I'm in."
Bailey stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
She turned to Webber, her voice still skeptical. "And you're really letting him do this?"
Webber shrugged, almost amused. "He wants to experience what his interns go through. Why stop him?"
Bailey let out a long breath before finally giving in. "Fine. He can shadow Stevens. God knows she could use another set of eyes on her."
Jamie nodded, standing up. "Looking forward to it."
Bailey shot him a look before heading for the door.
Jamie turned to Webber. "Thanks for letting me keep my dignity."
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Jamie followed Bailey down the hallway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, already regretting this entire situation.
Shadowing interns. Doing grunt work. This was Webber's idea of a punishment, and Jamie had to admit—it was creative. But, more importantly, it gave him a chance to see firsthand which interns had potential and which ones were barely staying afloat.
Bailey, however, wasn't nearly as amused.
"Of all the things you could ask for, you voluntarily chose this?" she asked, shaking her head as they turned a corner.
Jamie smirked. "Figured if I'm gonna be on the bottom rung for the day, I might as well make the most of it."
Bailey scoffed, giving him a look that clearly said idiot before stopping abruptly.
"Alright, here we go. Try to keep up, 'intern.'"
Jamie bit back a grin but didn't argue as they stepped into the main lobby, where a familiar blonde stood, shifting on her feet.
Izzie Stevens turned the second they approached, a bright—but slightly nervous—smile spreading across her face.
"I'm here! Hi. Hello." She exhaled sharply. "That paperwork took forever, but I'm here now. And can I just say how grateful I am to be back?"
Jamie leaned slightly toward Bailey and murmured, "She always this peppy?"
Bailey shot him a glare that said don't push it before focusing on Izzie.
"You understand there are rules to your probation. Rules to follow?"
Izzie nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, legal took me through all that stuff. The mandatory counseling, the extra lab hours. The extra work with the transplant patients."
Bailey nodded. "That's the stuff you're doing with the Chief. I'm talking about what you're doing for me."
Izzie blinked. "Okay. What am I doing for you?"
Bailey folded her arms. "Let's start with what you don't get to do."
Jamie could practically feel the temperature in the room drop as Bailey laid down the rules.
"You will not interact with any patients. You will not be alone with any patients. You will be seen and not heard. No procedures. The OR is off limits. No pre-op. No post-op. Anything having to do with an op. You have no authority. You have no opinions. You have no choice in this matter. Am I understood?"
Izzie's face fell slightly. "...Is there anything I can do? I want to be useful."
Bailey's stare was unwavering. "I can't use you. You've got to earn back the right for any of us to trust you again. Until then, you will be shadowing a different doctor every day."
Izzie swallowed, her shoulders tensing. "...Okay. Who am I with today? Dr. Montgomery? You?"
Just then, Meredith Grey walked up, answering Bailey's page.
"You paged?"
Bailey turned to her, completely unbothered. "Dr. Grey."
Izzie's brows shot up. "...Meredith?"
Bailey nodded. "You are to make sure Stevens observes only."
Meredith blinked. "You want me to—?"
Izzie's jaw dropped slightly. "Wait. Meredith? Meredith is the boss of me?"
Jamie, who had been watching the entire exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, couldn't stop the smirk that tugged at his lips.
"This is gonna be fun," he muttered under his breath.
Bailey ignored him entirely. "And as for you, Dr. Knight—"
Jamie straightened slightly.
"You're following them both. Consider it extra credit on your intern day."
Jamie sighed dramatically. "And here I thought you liked me."
Bailey smirked, patting his shoulder with a little more force than necessary. "I like you just fine, Knight."
Jamie rolled his eyes but didn't argue as Bailey walked off, leaving him standing there with Meredith and Izzie.
Silence.
Izzie was the first to break it, turning to Jamie. "Wait—why are you here?"
"Turns out, disappearing for a week comes with consequences. Webber thought I could use a refresher." said Jamie
Izzie stared at him. "You're an attending."
"Not today." Jamie sighed. "Today, I'm an overqualified intern."
Izzie huffed, crossing her arms. "Great. We both got demoted."
Jamie chuckled, looking over at Meredith. "So, where to, Boss?"
Meredith gave him a long look before sighing. "Just—follow me."
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As they walked down the hall, Meredith finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry about this."
Izzie rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick in her voice. "Hey, you want me to get you some coffee? Rub your feet, maybe?"
Jamie smirked but kept quiet.
Meredith exhaled. "I did not ask for this assignment."
Izzie shrugged. "It's fine. I'm fine with it."
And then she bumped into someone.
Jamie caught it at the last second—Izzie backed up directly into Derek Shepherd.
Derek barely moved, but Izzie winced, stepping back quickly. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
Derek's eyes flicked from Izzie to Meredith. "Dr. Stevens. Welcome back. Meredith? Meredith…"
Meredith looked away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn't spoken to Derek since last night—since she walked into his trailer and saw that woman, smirking from his bed, while Derek stood there wrapped in nothing but a towel.
It was one hell of a visual.
Now, she was avoiding him completely.
Jamie, walking beside her, noticed. "You okay?"
Meredith didn't answer.
Jamie turned slightly, and his stomach sank the moment he saw her.
Nancy Shepherd.
Izzie, shifting uncomfortably, gave a sheepish look. "Sorry, it's not like I can leave. I gotta stay by my boss's side."
Nancy glanced around casually, completely unfazed. "Okay, the trailer sucks, but in the light of day, the land is nice. Seattle's pretty in the daylight. Plus, you have your thing for ferries."
Without hesitation, Meredith and Derek corrected her in unison.
"Ferry boats."
Jamie exhaled through his nose. They're serious about that.
Nancy waved a hand dismissively. "Right, whatever."
Derek shifted uncomfortably, clearly hoping to move this along.
"Meredith, this is my sister, Nancy."
Meredith stiffened.
She knew.
She forced a polite nod. "Sister?"
Nancy smirked, eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, I knew you didn't think I was the wife, seeing as how you already ran her off."
Jamie's brows lifted slightly. Damn.
Derek shot Nancy a look. "Nancy is visiting from Connecticut. She's on her way home... now. Straight back home."
Meredith's voice was icy cold. "Well, it was nice to meet you."
Nancy's smirk widened. "Okay…"
Then her eyes landed on him, really landed on him, and she lit up like Christmas morning.
"No. Freaking. Way."
Jamie barely had a second to brace himself before Nancy clapped a hand against his shoulder, grinning.
"Baby Jamie?!"
He winced.
Meredith's head snapped toward him. "Baby Jamie?"
Izzie's eyes widened. "Oh, this is getting interesting."
Jamie sighed, already regretting everything. "Nancy, don't start."
Nancy ignored him completely.
"You guys don't even know, do you?" She turned toward Meredith, delighted. "Jamie here was the youngest resident in New York back in the day. He was practically a fetus."
Jamie closed his eyes briefly. "Why are you like this?"
Nancy just laughed. "You were such a baby-faced overachiever. Mom called you 'the kid genius.' I mean, seriously, Derek—how have you not told them this?"
Derek rubbed his forehead. "Because I forgot."
Jamie scoffed. "You did not."
Derek looked away.
Izzie, grinning, crossed her arms. "So… 'Baby Jamie' was a prodigy?"
Jamie pointed at her. "No. We're not making that a thing."
Nancy just grinned wider. "I mean, he's still got that whole broody, mysterious thing going for him now, but back then? He looked twelve."
Meredith turned toward Jamie. "And you know her because…?"
Jamie sighed, giving up. "It was 1998. My dad was on duty, my grandmother was in Seattle, and Derek's mom—being the very controlling woman that she is—invited me for Christmas dinner so I wouldn't be alone. Nancy, unfortunately, was also there."
Nancy beamed. "I was there. And I remember everything."
Jamie gritted his teeth. "Of course you do."
Nancy sighed dramatically. "You've grown up so much, Baby Jamie."
Derek covered his face.
Jamie glared. "That name dies today."
Nancy just laughed, gave his shoulder another pat, and turned back toward Derek. "Well, this has been fun. But I have a plane to catch. I'll let you get back to your hospital drama."
She winked at Meredith before heading off toward the exit.
Jamie stood frozen for a second before exhaling deeply. "I hate your family."
Derek patted his back. "I know."
Izzie, still grinning, leaned in toward Meredith. "McDreamy's sister is McBitchy."
Jamie shook his head, and said faintly. "She's worse than that."
Meredith just sighed. "Shut up and keep walking."
Jamie followed behind them, muttering, "I need a drink."
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"That was just mean," he muttered, not even looking up.
Nancy slid up beside him, unbothered. "Kathleen called and asked me to find out why the slutty intern's panties were hanging on the bulletin board."
Derek sighed, closing the file in his hands. "Four sisters. Four sisters and not one brother. And you wonder why I don't call more."
Nancy shrugged. "You can answer about the panties at any time."
Derek finally looked at her.
"Nance," he said, voice even. "It's good to see you. Really great to have you here. But I have a job, you know? I have patients."
Nancy didn't flinch. "I have a mother with twins at 35 weeks. Where is her OB?"
Derek huffed. "Well, her OB should be on a plane back to Connecticut where she belongs."
Nancy gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Wow, the hospitality is overwhelming."
Derek didn't look amused.
"Okay, so," Nancy continued, "we've covered the trailer. We still have to cover the slutty intern and the divorce."
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You know what?" he muttered. "You sound more and more like Mom every day."
Nancy's eyes widened.
"Take it back."
Derek smirked, pleased with himself. Nancy scowled and followed him into the elevator.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ER was chaos, like always. Patients lined the hallway, nurses moving between beds, voices overlapping with the constant beeping of monitors.
Meredith pulled back the gauze from Gretchen's hand, and the girl sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers trembling slightly. The burn stretched across her palm and fingers—angry, raw, and already blistering.
"Iz, set me up for first aid and temporary dressing," Meredith said, keeping her tone even. "We'll need to transfer her to the burn center after stabilization."
Izzie nodded, grabbing supplies.
"It's stupid," Gretchen muttered, voice tight with pain. "I know better. I get… tunnel vision when I study. I can't focus on anything except torts, real property, and constitutional law."
Meredith barely looked up. "Uh-huh."
"The biosynthetic dressings," she added.
Izzie paused. "We never use those."
"We do now." Meredith adjusted Gretchen's hand carefully, keeping her movements smooth. "Sloan changed the burn protocol last week."
From somewhere behind her, Jamie scoffed.
"Oh, well, if Sloan changed it, we should all immediately bow down to his superior knowledge," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Meredith sighed, already done with him. "Jamie."
"What?" Jamie shrugged, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. "Look, the guy's one of the best plastics surgeons in the country. No question. But he's also a dipshit with the self-control of a frat boy at an open bar."
Izzie snorted. "That's the most backhanded compliment I've ever heard."
Jamie just smirked. "It's called balance."
Gretchen, still cradling her hand, looked between them, confused. "Who's Sloan?"
"A plastic surgeon," Izzie explained. "Thinks he's God's gift to women."
Jamie nodded. "And unfortunately, he's got the skills to back it up."
Meredith didn't bother responding. She secured the temporary bandage and grabbed Gretchen's chart.
"What happened?" she asked, already moving on.
Gretchen let out a breath. "I was about to start a practice test. I wanted something to drink, so I put on some tea. Half an hour into my section on contracts, the smoke alarm was blaring, and—well, you know the rest."
Meredith checked her pulse, watching Gretchen's reaction as she gently tested the flexibility of her fingers.
"So, you're going to be a lawyer?" she asked.
Gretchen winced but nodded. "All I have to do is pass the bar exam. I failed last time… but this time, I'm ready. I'm going to pass."
"Good for you," Izzie said, genuinely supportive.
Jamie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching. This doesn't add up.
Gretchen's burn wasn't just bad—it was deep. The kind of injury you didn't get from just dropping something hot.
Meredith finished securing the bandage, already moving onto the next step. "Iz, get her set up with pain management, start fluids, and get a bed lined up for transfer."
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The nurses' station was its usual mess. Phones rang. Charts were flipped through. Interns hustled past, trying to look busier than they actually were.
Across the desk, Alex Karev was very much not working.
That fact became even clearer when Mark Sloan strolled in, cell phone pressed to his ear, looking like a man two seconds away from losing his patience.
"Karev, you free?"
Alex perked up immediately. "Absolutely, sir."
Sloan smirked. "Great. Take this."
He shoved the phone straight into Alex's hand before walking away.
Alex frowned. "What the hell is this?"
Sloan waved a hand dismissively. "I'm on hold with the DMV. Some mix-up switching my license and registration to Seattle. Handle it."
Alex stared after him, unamused. "Yeah, sure. Let me just clear my whole damn schedule for you, sir."
Sloan winked. "That's the spirit."
Alex sighed and plopped down in a chair, the DMV's terrible hold music already playing in his ear.
George O'Malley walked up, flipping through a chart. He barely glanced at Alex before smirking.
"You look busy," he said dryly.
Alex huffed. "I am busy. This is important business. For Sloan."
George rolled his eyes. "Right… super important, I'm sure." He turned back to his file. "I've got a patient who was born with and is pregnant in two uteruses. Two uteruses… jealous?"
Alex sat up slightly. "Wait—what?"
George smirked. "Noelle LeBatt. Room 2413."
Alex reached out, grabbing the chart from George's hands before he could stop him. "Hang on, let me see that."
Before George could argue, a new voice chimed in.
"Did I just hear him say two uteruses?"
Alex turned toward the source and immediately recognized the sharp, amused expression.
Nancy Shepherd.
He barely had a second to react before another voice cut in—
"Nancy pants?"
Mark Sloan.
Nancy's smirk widened as she turned toward him. "Hey, loser."
Sloan grinned. "I wish Derek had told me you were visiting."
Nancy scoffed. "Oh, like he tells you anything these days?"
Sloan raised a brow. "Well, I'm working on that."
Nancy crossed her arms, unconvinced. "What are you doing here, Mark? Are you trying to torture him?"
Sloan tilted his head, half-smirking. "He's my family, Nancy." He shrugged. "Plus, I needed a change of pace. Plus, I slept with my tennis partner's wife, and he went out and bought a gun."
Nancy grinned instantly. "That's the reason!"
Jamie, who had been quietly observing, let out a low exhale. Of course.
Before Nancy could add more, another voice entered the conversation.
"Oh! Nancy!"
Addison Montgomery.
She strode toward them, already smiling like she had everything figured out. "Let me guess," she said, stopping beside them. "Did Mom send you out?"
Nancy didn't deny it.
Instead, she smirked. "Let me guess—you're trying to ban him from Seattle?"
Addison's smile widened. "Did he also tell you he's living in a trailer?"
Before anyone could react, Derek appeared from down the hall.
He took one look at the scene—Mark, Nancy, Addison all gathered together—and immediately turned on his heel to leave.
Nancy's eyes narrowed.
"Derek. Derek?"
She took off after him.
Nancy called back over her shoulder, "I want to see the two uteruses!"
Addison laughed. "Yeah, find me later."
Mark, watching Nancy go, sighed dramatically.
"I miss her."
Addison's voice was softer this time. "Yeah, me too."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The nurses' station was quiet—for once.
Which was exactly why the gang had claimed it for their unofficial lunch spot.
Izzie walked past the room, expecting to find them in the cafeteria. Instead, she found them gathered around a patient's bed, eating like it was a break room.
She paused in the doorway, frowning.
"I've been waiting for you guys for half an hour in the cafeteria," she said, crossing her arms. "Since when do we eat in a patient room?"
George, mid-bite, gestured lazily at the patient.
"Izzie, meet Really Old Guy. We found him a couple of days ago. He sleeps all the time."
Christina, not looking up from her sandwich, muttered, "It's quiet. No one bothers us." Then, after a beat, she narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"
Izzie sighed. "I'm not doing anything. Turns out, I'm literally not allowed to do anything. I knew coming back would be an adjustment, but this…"
Christina finally glanced at her.
"No, I mean, what are you doing now?"
Izzie blinked. "Eating my lunch."
Christina smirked. "Okay. If you want to socialize, talk about your day, or get in a quick therapy session, go do it over there."
Izzie gaped. "Seriously?"
Christina gave her a pointed look.
"Goodbye, Izzie."
Izzie scoffed, throwing her hands up. "Okay…"
She plopped into an empty chair, grumbling under her breath.
Alex, barely looking up, turned toward George.
"So, O'Malley, your two uteruses…"
George sighed. "You're on scut. Glorified plastics scut. You're in no position to mock me or my uteruses."
Alex grinned. "Any cervical changes on the ultrasound?"
George frowned. "Why do you care?"
"I don't."
Izzie, chewing aggressively, rolled her eyes. "I am so glad to be back. Yay!" She turned to Meredith. "I'm not complaining about you. You and I are fine, boss."
Before Meredith could respond, the old man in the bed groaned slightly, shifting in his sleep.
Everyone paused and for a second, the room was completely silent.
Then— George sighed, staring down at his plate.
"I called Callie a pig."
Alex looked up, interested. "To her face?"
Meredith, deadpan: "What happened to the whole corpse thing?"
Izzie leaned back, shaking her head. "I can't get over how much everything around here has changed."
Meredith ignored her. "How many times?"
George shifted uncomfortably. "Just one time."
Meredith nodded. "Then I get one too."
She reached for a card from the deck on the table.
Izzie blinked. "Wait, what was that? What just happened with Meredith?"
George shrugged. "We have a thing."
Izzie scoffed. "You have a thing with Meredith, and I don't know about it? I live with you. I see you every day."
"It's a work thing."
Christina, not looking up from her cards, sighed.
"You know, the point of hanging out with Really Old Guy is that he doesn't talk." She waved a hand toward the bed. "The man is sedated. This is supposed to be a quiet place."
With that, she grabbed her tray and stood up.
Then— Izzie turned toward Jamie.
"Speaking of things I missed," she said, tilting her head. "Anyone care to explain why Nancy Shepherd calls you 'Baby Jamie?'"
Jamie froze mid-bite.
Christina, already halfway out the door, paused.
Slowly, she turned back.
"What?"
Jamie sighed, setting his fork down. "Nope."
Izzie grinned. "Oh, yes."
George leaned forward. "Yeah, I gotta admit, we're all curious."
Christina, now fully back in her seat, narrowed her eyes. "'Baby Jamie?'"
Jamie rubbed his temples. "It's nothing."
"It's never nothing," Christina countered, smirking.
Meredith leaned on the counter, watching him carefully. "Nancy seemed…delighted to bring it up."
"Of course she did," Jamie muttered.
Izzie grinned. "So? Spill. Why 'Baby Jamie?'"
Jamie exhaled sharply, clearly weighing how much pain he'd be in if he didn't just tell them.
Finally, he shook his head.
"I was always the youngest."
Christina frowned. "What do you mean, always the youngest?"
Jamie glanced at them before sighing.
"High school by fifteen. Columbia pre-med by eighteen. Harvard Med by twenty-one."
Silence.
Everyone just stared.
George blinked. "I—what?"
Jamie kept going, staring at the table.
"After that i went back to New York. General surgery residency and cardio fellowship by twenty-six at the Presbyterian."
Then, for the first time, he paused.
His jaw tightened slightly, his fingers tapping absently against the table.
Then his voice became quieter: "I joined the army in 2001."
Jamie paused.
"Completed emergency medicine and trauma certification. And a bunch of other things."
Silence stretched.
Meredith was the first to realize. She didn't push.
Alex, however, let out a low whistle. "So basically, you were a walking flex at every stage of your life."
Jamie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
George, still shocked, shook his head.
"Nineteen," he whispered again, like the sheer math of it was personally offensive.
Christina, meanwhile, was deep in thought.
Then, finally— She narrowed her eyes.
"You skipped your intern year?"
Jamie smiled slightly. "I fast-tracked. Skipped the redundancy."
Christina's entire posture shifted.
Jamie, recognizing the shift, sighed. "No."
"Oh, it's on."
"Yang—" Christina walked out before he could finish the sentence.
Jamie rolled his eyes.
Izzie, still grinning, leaned forward.
"So you were, like…a tiny little doctor?"
Jamie glared. "Don't."
Izzie giggled. "Oh my God. You were Doogie Howser."
"I hate all of you," Jamie muttered.
Meredith, still watching him carefully, let the conversation carry on.
She'd caught the hesitation. She'd caught the way his voice changed when he said 2001.
"Maybe Derek knows." Grey muttered under her breath
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The restaurant was quiet, upscale but not pretentious, the kind of place their mother would approve of—if only because it served the right kind of wine.
Nancy Shepherd swirled her glass absently, watching Derek across the table with thinly veiled amusement.
"So," she started, her tone dripping with mock innocence. "Tell me about the slutty girl."
Derek exhaled sharply, dropping his fork onto his plate with a little more force than necessary.
Nancy's smirk widened.
"Fine," she corrected with exaggerated patience. "The slutty intern."
Derek shot her a flat look. "It's the 'slutty' part I have a problem with."
Nancy tilted her head, as if considering. "I mean, if the shoe fits…"
Derek picked up his water glass, choosing patience. "She's not like that."
Nancy leaned in slightly, resting her chin in her palm. "Kathleen says she's not even single."
"She is single," Derek snapped before he could stop himself.
Nancy's brows lifted in satisfaction. "Touchy."
He sighed, setting down his glass. "She's wonderful. She's smart. She's a lot of things. But she is none of your business, Nancy."
Nancy hummed, unimpressed. "Wow," she mused, tapping a manicured nail against her wine glass. "I've never seen you like this over a girl. Not even Addison."
Derek's frowned. "I've never been like this over a girl." He picked up his fork, stabbing a piece of salmon with more force than required. "Especially Addison."
Nancy huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, don't be bitter."
Derek didn't look up. "I'm not bitter."
Nancy ignored him. "I mean, shame on Addison and all that," she continued, waving a dismissive hand, "but come on, Derek. He's Mark. What did you expect?"
Derek's grip on his fork tightened. "Excuse me?"
Nancy smirked over the rim of her glass. "Oh, don't act surprised. Everyone sleeps with Mark. It's practically a rite of passage."
Derek set down his fork carefully, turning his full attention to her. "What did you just say?"
Nancy rolled her eyes, still oblivious. "Oh, come on. Everyone's gone there once or twice."
Derek's expression didn't change, but the air between them shifted.
Nancy paused, the realization hitting a second too late.
Derek's voice was quieter this time. "It wasn't a mistake, Nance."
Nancy swallowed, finally meeting his eyes. "Derek—"
"It was months." Derek's voice was sharp, edged with something too raw to be anger. "They were together for months."
Nancy's smirk faded completely. "I—"
"Did you know that?" Derek pressed, watching her closely.
Nancy hesitated, her usual quick wit faltering. "No," she admitted. "I had no idea."
Derek leaned back in his chair, picked up his fork again, and gave her a look that shut the conversation down entirely.
"Then shut up about it and eat your lunch."
A tense silence stretched between them, the only sound the quiet murmur of the restaurant around them.
Nancy cleared her throat, visibly shifting gears.
"Fine," she said, spearing a piece of salad with her fork. "If you don't want to talk about your love life, let's talk about something else."
Derek sighed. "Do I get a choice?"
Nancy smirked, but before she could speak, Derek cut her off. "Leave Jamie alone."
Nancy blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You heard me." Derek's tone was calm but firm. "Whatever you're planning—don't."
Nancy scoffed, reaching for her wine again. "Oh, come on. It's Jamie. It's Baby Jamie. He can handle it."
Derek shook his head. "No, Nancy. He can't."
That stopped her.
Derek exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "He's been through a lot."
Nancy snorted. "We've all been through a lot."
Derek's expression darkened.
"No," he said. "Not like Jamie."
Nancy rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. He's a genius. Went to war, came back a hero, still somehow managed to be a surgeon. If anything, Jamie landed on his feet."
Derek's fingers curled around his glass.
"When he first got to Seattle," he said slowly, "I almost didn't recognize him."
Derek's voice dropped, something heavy settling into it.
"The Jamie I knew? He was cocky. A pain in the ass. Always two steps ahead of everyone else. He used to annoy the hell out of me." Derek let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "But when he showed up here? He looked like a ghost."
Nancy frowned, finally listening.
Derek set his drink down, looking at her seriously.
"You weren't there after his dad died."
Nancy stilled.
Derek nodded. "I was."
Nancy stayed quiet.
Derek exhaled. "After his mom died, his dad was all he had. His grandmother lives here in Seattle. The only thing keeping him going was his dad. And then 9/11 happened."
Nancy's throat tightened.
Derek's voice softened, but it didn't lose its edge.
"That broke him, Nancy. You don't get it. Jamie didn't just lose his dad—he lost everything. His world turned upside down overnight, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. You know how it was when we lost dad, but we still had mom. We had each other. Jamie had nobody."
Nancy looked down, suddenly not hungry.
"He left after that," Derek continued. "Went into the Army. Disappeared. No calls, no emails. Nothing." He shook his head. "I didn't see him again until he called me a month ago."
Nancy swallowed. "Derek—"
"I don't know how long it took him to put himself back together," Derek interrupted. "But I know this—he's only just started to open up again. To me."
Nancy stayed quiet.
Derek looked at her, his voice firm.
"So do me a favor, Nance." He picked up his fork again, eyes never leaving hers.
"Leave Jamie alone."
Nancy exhaled, setting her wine glass down.
She studied him for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression.
Then, finally—she nodded.
Derek didn't say anything else.
Nancy picked up her fork again, chewing absently. "Well." She swallowed. "This has been a delightful lunch."
Derek snorted. "Uh-huh."
Nancy smirked faintly. "We should do it again sometime."
Derek gave her a look.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Burn Center carried a different kind of stillness—sterile, calculated, clinical. The hum of machines, the quiet murmurs of nurses, the distant beeping of monitors—it was a different world from the chaos of the ER.
Jamie stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on Gretchen.
She sat on the hospital bed, her bandaged hand resting on her lap, her posture stiff. Despite the painkillers, she was tense
Something was off.
He had seen burn victims before.
Accidents. Combat injuries. Patients who didn't realize how badly they were hurt until they smelled their own flesh burning.
Sloan, standing at the foot of the bed, flipped through her chart. "Alright," he said, voice even, "so the biosynthetic dressings should ensure that you won't need skin grafts. That's good news."
Gretchen nodded, but her fingers twitched slightly against the blanket.
"Would that take long?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, how long would something like that take? If I had needed grafts?"
Jamie's brows furrowed.
Meredith, standing next to Sloan, answered without hesitation. "That would depend on the severity of the burn. If it were full-thickness, requiring excision and autografting, we'd be talking weeks of healing, multiple procedures." She glanced at Gretchen's bandages. "But yours are deep partial-thickness. The biosynthetic dressings should promote epithelialization and reduce the need for debridement."
Gretchen's grip on the sheets tightened. "So you mean more severe than this? It would have to be worse?"
Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Yes…"
Jamie leaned forward slightly.
Too specific.
She wasn't just asking. She was checking.
Just to make sure.
Meredith's gaze sharpened. "Just to make sure I have everything accurate—you burned your hand…"
Gretchen cut in immediately. "We've been over this."
Jamie noted the shift.
The way her voice got defensive, how she leaned back slightly. Classic avoidance.
Meredith, ever patient, tried again. "I'm sorry—"
"I have a test Friday," Gretchen snapped. "I have work to do. I want to get out of here. I'm ready to go home."
Jamie exhaled slowly.
Before Meredith could respond, Izzie—who had been watching closely, too closely—spoke up.
"Gretchen… did you burn your hand on purpose?"
The room froze.
Jamie closed his eyes briefly.
Here we go.
Meredith shot Izzie a warning look. "Izzie—"
"It's okay if you did," Izzie interrupted, not backing down. Her voice was softer now, less accusing. "It's just… did you?"
Silence.
Gretchen's chest rose and fell. Her good hand clenched.
"Izzie—" Meredith warned again, but Izzie kept going.
"Did you burn your hand to get out of taking your test?"
Gretchen's breath hitched.
Her eyes darted away.
Jamie knew that look.
She was breaking. Finally, her shoulders slumped.
"I can't fail that damn test one more time." Her voice was small.
Jamie didn't move.
Gretchen let out a shaky breath, staring down at her bandaged palm like it held all the answers.
"I just… can't."
She let out a wet, humorless laugh. "It's all anyone in my family talks about. It's all I'm known for." She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, Gretchen the failure."
Her breathing quickened.
"Can you imagine failing the bar exam five times?"
Izzie stayed quiet.
Jamie watched as Gretchen clenched her jaw, like she was trying to hold herself together.
"That's absurd. That's pathetic." Her voice cracked. "I can't sit for two and a half solid days of testing again just to prove to everyone—**again—**how pathetic I am."
She shook her head.
"Now… when." Her voice broke.
The room was silent.
Jamie let the moment stretch before he started talking. "You're still taking the test."
Gretchen looked up sharply. "What?"
Jamie's voice was calm, steady. But there was no room for argument.
"If you were stable enough to sit for the bar before today, then you're stable enough now," he said simply. "You don't need a medical excuse. You need to face it. Some people have real troubles. Get over it."
Gretchen's breath hitched.
Jamie gave her a long look.
"You don't need to hurt yourself," he said quietly. "You need to pass."
Gretchen blinked rapidly, trying to process.
For the first time since she walked in, she looked relieved.
Meredith sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Fine. Izzie, go with her to the psych consult."
Izzie's eyes widened. "Seriously?"
Meredith waved a hand. "Just don't get in trouble."
Izzie flashed a quick smile and hurried after Gretchen as she was wheeled out.
Sloan, who had been watching the whole exchange, shook his head, amused.
"Well. Look at you, Knight. Playing therapist."
Jamie answered slowly. "I'm not a Therapist Sloan. It's called not being a dipshit."
Meredith gave him a look.
Jamie shrugged. "She deserved a chance."
Meredith sighed, rubbing her temple.
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The surgical board was a mess of names and procedures, a flurry of handwriting that was barely legible through the morning rush.
Jamie scanned it absently—the usual craniotomies, laparotomies, vascular repairs
"Oh, what i would give for a surgery right now." Jamie mutters.
—until he saw something, that made him pause.
His eyes locked onto one name.
Byrd, Pruitt – Cardio Autotransplantation – Attending: Burke.
Jamie's eye's narrowed. "I warned him. Gone for a week and he pretends nothing happend"
Jamie stormed to the OR
The gallery was dim, a wall of glass separating him from the surgical team below. Jamie stood near the railing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Below, the surgery was already in progress.
Burke stood at the head of the table, his hands moving with calculated precision. Yang was assisting—eager, laser-focused. Every move was methodical, practiced.
But Jamie wasn't watching Yang.
His sharp gaze was locked on Burke's hands.
Down below, Christina's voice cut through the surgical hum.
"Applying the final hemostasis suture."
Burke's voice was even. "Don't be afraid to—"
"Grab a bigger piece? Got it."
Jamie exhaled slowly.
He could see it.
The slightest hesitation.
The way Burke's fingers stiffened, how he adjusted his grip just a fraction of a second too late.
It wasn't obvious—not to someone who wasn't looking for it.
But Jamie was.
And it was damn well there.
Below, Burke lifted the mass from the patient's open heart.
Christina spoke. "It was attached at the intraventricular septum. Are you going to use a graft to repair?"
Burke hesitated—just for a second.
"Someone's been doing their homework."
Jamie's fingers curled into a fist. This was what he warned him about. He had told Burke.
He had given him a chance to listen. To fix it.
And instead, Burke had ignored him.
Jamie pushed off the railing, exhaling sharply.
He wasn't going to stand there and watch a man risk his patient's life just to prove a point.
Jamie turned. If Burke wasn't going to stop himself, Jamie would.