The Knight’s Oath: Grey’s Anatomy

The safe house was quiet, but the air was thick with tension. Dim yellow light flickered from a single exposed bulb, casting long shadows over the makeshift medical setup—a steel table, a few scattered supplies, and Ryan, lying flat on his back, his shirt soaked in sweat and blood.

Jamie stood over him, focused, methodical, slipping into surgeon mode despite the exhaustion pressing at the edges of his mind. His hands pressed carefully against Ryan's abdomen, feeling the rigidity beneath the skin.

Distended. Swollen.

Not good.

Ryan's sharp inhale confirmed what Jamie already knew.

"You already know, don't you?" Jamie muttered, watching Ryan's face for any sign of denial.

Ryan let out a strained chuckle, his lips twitching upward before coughing, his body tensing in pain. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice raspy. "Been ignoring it since we left."

Jamie scowled, shaking his head. "Internal bleeding, probably from a ruptured vessel near the liver. Maybe spleen. Whatever it is, it's not small."

Ryan exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. "And here I thought you'd lost your touch," he murmured.

Jamie shot him a look. "You should've said something back at the hospital."

Ryan gave him a weak smirk. "Didn't seem like the right time. What with the imminent execution and all."

Jamie pressed a little harder, testing the peritoneal response. Ryan's entire body seized, a sharp, uncontrollable twitch of pain that sent his breathing shallow and rapid.

Rebound tenderness.

Jamie's jaw tightened. "Damn it, Ryan."

Ryan coughed again, looking paler by the second. "I know," he murmured. "Trust me, I know."

Bauer stepped into the room, his face unreadable. He had been gone for the last fifteen minutes, dealing with Hernandez—probably interrogating him, maybe worse.

"You done diagnosing him?" Bauer asked, voice dry but carrying an underlying edge of urgency.

Jamie turned to him, his voice sharp, clipped. "He needs surgery. In a real hospital. With actual equipment. Or he's not making it out of here alive."

Ryan huffed out a weak laugh, still trying to joke despite the gravity of the situation. "I am a surgeon, Jamie. You don't have to dumb it down for me."

Jamie shot him a glare. "Then you know exactly how screwed you are."

Ryan didn't argue. He just let out a slow breath, his body sinking further into the table.

Bauer ran a hand over his face, frustration creeping in. "That's a problem."

Jamie gritted his teeth. "No, Bauer. Dying is a problem. Whatever bureaucratic disaster you're about to dump on me? Fix it."

Bauer let out a heavy sigh. "Hernandez has friends in the Venezuelan military. Airports are locked down. Official transport is a no-go. We're not flying out."

Jamie swore under his breath.

Ryan exhaled sharply, looking between them. "So what's the move? I'm assuming it's not 'let Ryan bleed out on a metal table in Caracas.'"

Bauer's expression darkened. "We'll find another way."

Ryan rolled his head to the side, looking at Jamie. "You're the genius. Got any ideas?"

Jamie took a deep breath, mind racing through possibilities. They needed a real OR, real supplies—somewhere to operate without getting them all killed in the process.

Then, an idea.

"This doesn't add up," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Bauer, who had been watching silently, raised an eyebrow. "What doesn't?"

Jamie turned toward him, his expression tight with frustration. "That hospital—it was too empty. A facility that well-built? The resources? The equipment?" He shook his head. "They weren't just running one operation out of there. There has to be another site."

Bauer folded his arms. "You think Hernandez knows?"

Jamie's jaw clenched. "He built that empire. He knows everything."

Bauer smirked, tilting his head toward the next room. "Then maybe it's time you had a chat with him."

Jamie didn't hesitate. He pushed off the wall and strode toward the door.

The room was dark, lit by a single, flickering overhead light. The air was stale, thick with the smell of sweat and blood.

Hernandez sat in a chair, his wrists zip-tied, a streak of dried blood at his temple from where Bauer had likely "convinced" him to cooperate earlier. Despite that, he still held himself with the arrogance of a man who believed himself was untouchable.

Jamie stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Hernandez looked up lazily, his lips curling into a smirk. "Ah. The surgeon." His voice was hoarse, but the mocking tone was still there. "Come to check my vitals?"

Jamie ignored the bait, dragging a chair across the floor and sitting down across from him. His posture was calm, relaxed—but his eyes were sharp, calculating.

"You built that hospital from the ground up," Jamie said smoothly. "State-of-the-art facility. But when I got there, it was empty."

Hernandez just watched him, silent.

Jamie continued. "A place like that doesn't sit underutilized. You and I both know it." He leaned forward slightly. "So where's the real one?"

Hernandez chuckled, shaking his head. "You think I'm just going to tell you?"

Jamie's voice didn't waver. "No. I think you're going to tell me because I just spent ten hours saving your life."

Hernandez's smirk faltered just slightly.

Jamie leaned forward, his voice dropping into something colder. "If I wanted you dead, I would've let you bleed out in that hospital. But I didn't. You're here. Alive. That means you owe me."

Hernandez exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly in his chair.

Jamie studied him. There was hesitation. That meant there was something to hesitate about.

"Let me guess," Jamie mused. "You needed that hospital for show. Clean. Perfect. For when your high-profile clients needed to feel comfortable." His eyes narrowed. "But the real work? The real butchery? That happens somewhere else."

Hernandez's eye twitched. 

Jamie smirked, knowing he had struck a nerve.

"That's where they took the healthy ones, isn't it? The people you ripped off the streets, the ones who were never getting out. That's where the real trade happens." Jamie's voice turned razor-sharp. "And that's where Ryan should've been."

Hernandez remained silent.

Jamie inhaled, then said, too casually, "Shame, though."

Hernandez tilted his head slightly, waiting.

Jamie stood up, stepping behind him before lowering his voice. "Because here's the thing—you're not valuable anymore. You think the CIA is going to cut you a deal? They don't need you. You're just a problem that needs solving."

Hernandez tensed ever so slightly.

Jamie placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, gripping just tight enough to make his point. "And Jack? He's not patient. He'll get tired of waiting. And when he does? You won't like what happens next."

A long silence.

Then—Hernandez let out a slow breath.

"East of the city." His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation now. "They use a repurposed military hospital. Government shut it down years ago, but we took over. It's off-grid. No records. No security cameras. No names."

Jamie locked eyes with him.

Hernandez said. "They call it La Sombra. The Shadow."

Jamie didn't waste time. He pushed off the chair, turned, and strode out of the room.

Bauer was waiting just outside, arms crossed. "That look on your face tells me we have a lead."

Jamie nodded once. "La Sombra. Abandoned hospital, east of the city."

Bauer whistled lowly. "Damn. That explains a lot."

Jamie exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Ryan's not going to make it if we don't move now."

Bauer nodded, already reaching for his comms. "I'll get the team ready."

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La Sombra

Abandoned Military Hospital, East of Caracas

Time: 11:37 PM

The drive had been tense, but silent.

Jamie sat in the back of the car, his mind already going through the procedure in his head—what he'd need, what he'd have to improvise, how much time he had before Ryan's condition became irreversible.

Ryan sat beside him, his breathing slightly ragged. He didn't complain, but Jamie could see the strain in his eyes. He was running on sheer force of will.

Bauer was in the front, quiet but calculating, checking his sidearm as they neared their destination. The three of them were moving alone, without the full strike team—just the way Jamie wanted it. Less noise, less attention, and an easier way inside. The Delta operators would take their positions outside and move in once the facility was compromised.

Jamie exhaled slowly. They only had one shot at this.

The facility was a hulking mass of concrete, the old military structure barely showing any signs of life—just a few dim floodlights and two guards at the front gate.

Jamie stepped out of the vehicle first, gripping Ryan's arm like a man in a hurry. Bauer followed, looking every bit the bodyguard he was supposed to be.

As they approached, one of the guards at the gate stepped forward, rifle at his chest. His Spanish was clipped, firm.

"You're not on the list."

Jamie didn't hesitate. He let his anger boil over immediately, his voice commanding.

"The hell do you mean we're not on the list? Do you know who I am?" He gestured aggressively at Ryan, who let out a well-timed cough. "This man is a priority asset! He needs immediate surgery."

The guard hesitated.

Jamie pressed harder. He stepped forward, his eyes flashing with the kind of authority that made men think twice about questioning him.

"You want to be the one who tells Hernandez you weren't prepared? That when he gets here, he finds nothing in place? That his personal surgeon was left untreated while you stood here scratching your ass?"

The guard shifted uncomfortably. He turned to his partner, muttering something. Jamie could see the hesitation.

Jamie pushed harder.

"Hernandez is coming. And when he does, he's going to expect me to get to work. You want to explain to him why you slowed me down? Why you delayed this whole operation because you were too damn stupid to recognize an emergency?"

The guard swallowed, then exhaled sharply. "Fine," he muttered in Spanish. He stepped aside and waved them through.

Jamie walked through the gate like he owned the place.

Bauer muttered under his breath as they passed, "Damn, Knight. Didn't know you could throw a tantrum like that."

Jamie smirked, adjusting his cuffs. "You'd be surprised what people believe when you say it with enough confidence."

The inside of the facility was exactly what Jamie expected—dimly lit, cold, sterile, but outdated.

Unlike the first hospital, this one was truly functional—old surgical equipment, gurneys stained with things Jamie didn't want to think about, and the distant smell of antiseptic that did nothing to cover up the underlying scent of death.

Jamie barely let himself react. Instead, he focused. This was a hospital. A bad one, but a hospital nonetheless.

A nurse, one of the few actually present, hesitated as they entered. Jamie snapped at her immediately, still playing his role.

"I need an OR prepped, now!"

The woman nodded and scurried away.

Jamie turned to Bauer, voice low. "Start working. Quietly."

Bauer gave him a nod and disappeared into the hallway. Time to start thinning the herd.

Ryan sat down on the nearest gurney, rolling his head back against the wall. "You really do love screaming at people, huh?"

Jamie smirked as he rolled up his sleeves, already switching gears to full surgeon mode. "Don't act like you didn't teach me that trick."

Ryan chuckled but winced, gripping his abdomen. Jamie's smirk faded instantly.

"Alright, let's get this done."

Ryan was already looking pale, his body struggling to keep up. His abdomen was rigid, swelling more than before—clear signs of internal bleeding.

Jamie worked quickly, efficiently, talking as he went.

"Ryan, talk to me. You already know the drill."

Ryan huffed out a weak laugh. "Shit, you're making me do a trauma assessment on myself?"

Jamie raised a brow. "You'd rather I let Bauer do it?"

Ryan groaned. "Fine. Pain's centralized, but radiating lower right quadrant. Guarding reflex on palpation. Peritoneal irritation, which means I'm—"

Jamie cut in smoothly, finishing his diagnosis. "Bleeding into your abdomen. Yeah. And with the distention spreading, we don't have much time before it gets worse."

Jamie grabbed a vial and syringe from the tray. He wasn't thrilled with the anesthesia options, but he couldn't have Ryan fully conscious while cutting into him—even someone as tough as Ryan couldn't withstand that level of pain.

"Alright, Ryan," Jamie said, as he tapped the syringe, pushing out a small stream of liquid. "I'm giving you a mix—local lidocaine around the incision site, plus a little ketamine to dull the worst of it. You'll be awake, but it'll take the edge off."

Ryan, despite his condition, smirked weakly. "Jesus… field surgery with ketamine? You gonna take me on a psychedelic trip, Knight?"

Jamie rolled his eyes, already injecting the local anesthetic around Ryan's abdomen, carefully blocking the nerves he needed. "Not that kind of trip. Just enough so you don't try to kill me when I start cutting."

Ryan winced slightly at the injections, but after a few minutes, Jamie could already see the muscles around his abdomen loosening slightly, the worst of the pain dampened.

Ryan exhaled slowly. "Alright. Do it."

Jamie gave him a final look. "You tell me if it gets too bad."

Ryan huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to gut me like a fish."

Jamie picked up the scalpel.

"Alright. Here goes nothing."

Jamie made a careful midline incision, exposing Ryan's distended abdomen. The moment he opened him up, the bleeding intensified.

Too much blood pooling.

"Shit," Jamie muttered under his breath.

He worked quickly, his hands steady despite the dim lighting and the limited equipment.

Ryan groaned as the pressure in his abdomen was relieved, his body tensing slightly. Even with the ketamine in his system, he could still feel the discomfort—but it was manageable.

"Tell me what I'm looking for," Jamie said, keeping him engaged.

Ryan exhaled heavily, his voice slightly slurred but still sharp. "Arterial bleed, likely mesenteric. Maybe secondary trauma near the spleen. Check for retroperitoneal pooling."

Jamie nodded, his hands moving methodically. He packed gauze into the wound, slowing the bleeding while he worked his way deeper.

He palpated carefully. The swelling was worse near the lower mesenteric arteries.

"Got it," Jamie muttered. "Lower mesenteric. The artery's torn, but it's not a complete rupture."

Ryan let out a shaky breath, sweat beading on his forehead. "Clamp it."

Jamie grabbed a vascular clamp, his hands moving with precision as he secured the artery, stopping the worst of the bleeding.

"Bleeding controlled," Jamie said, his voice calm.

Ryan grinned weakly, his pupils slightly dilated from the ketamine. "See? You're getting better at this, kid."

Jamie didn't humor him with a response—he just focused on securing the ligature, using a fine silk suture to reinforce the clamp.

"Now checking for secondary trauma," Jamie murmured to himself.

He moved carefully, running his fingers along the bowel, checking for perforation.

Ryan winced as Jamie pressed further along the intestines.

"Got a small tear in the bowel," Jamie confirmed. "Nothing catastrophic. We can patch it."

Ryan nodded faintly, his breathing slower now, but still steady.

Jamie worked quickly, suturing the perforation in a series of careful interrupted stitches, sealing it shut.

"Alright," Jamie said, "Bleeding controlled. Bowel repaired. No major secondary damage."

Ryan let out a weak, slow breath. "Good. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Jamie grabbed fresh gauze, using it to absorb the last bit of excess blood before irrigating the wound as best as he could with what little sterile saline he had.

"I'm closing you up now," Jamie said, his voice steady.

Ryan was barely listening now, his eyes struggling to stay open.

Jamie worked quickly, closing the incision with layered sutures, making sure it was tight but not constricting blood flow.

He finally placed a temporary pressure dressing over the wound, securing it tightly.

"Done."

Ryan exhaled shakily, his body exhausted from both the surgery and the drugs.

Jamie sat back, rubbing his face with his forearm, streaking blood across his cheek. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.

"He's stable."

Bauer, who had returned sometime during the surgery, finally exhaled. "Good. Because we need to move. Now."

The Delta team signaled their arrival, clearing a back exit for them.

Jamie and Bauer got Ryan onto a gurney, pushing him fast down the corridor.

The facility was eerily silent now.

Outside, a blacked-out SUV waited, engine running.

Jamie climbed into the back with Ryan, pressing gauze to his incision.

Bauer slammed the door shut behind them.

The SUV's engine hummed low as they sped through the back streets of Caracas. The city outside was dark, the occasional flickering streetlamp casting long shadows across cracked pavement.

Ryan was slumped in the backseat, breathing shallow but steady, his body fighting to keep up after the field surgery. Jamie sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his pulse, counting silently. Still stable—for now.

Bauer was behind the wheel, driving like a man who'd done this a hundred times before—fast, deliberate, without drawing attention.

Jamie exhaled, leaning his head back for a moment. The adrenaline was fading, and with it, the sharp burn of pain started creeping up his left shoulder. He ignored it. There were more important things to worry about.

Ryan's voice was hoarse when he spoke. "We… actually getting out of here?"

Jamie smirked, keeping his tone casual. "That's the plan."

Ryan gave a weak chuckle. "Shit. Didn't think you'd go through this much trouble for me."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Don't get sentimental. You're still a pain in my ass."

Ryan grinned but coughed violently, his body tensing with the effort. Jamie caught his arm, steadying him, his frown deepening. He didn't like the sound of that cough.

Before Jamie could say anything, Bauer spoke up.

"We're five minutes out," he said. "Mason should already be there."

Jamie's eyes flickered toward him. Mason. He hadn't seen him since the start of the operation. That didn't sit well.

"You trust him?" Bauer asked casually, his eyes on the road.

Jamie didn't hesitate. "I trust him more than I trust the CIA."

Bauer smirked. "Fair enough."

The moment they pulled into the safe house's courtyard, Mason was already waiting.

He stood by the entrance, arms crossed, dressed in tactical black, his expression unreadable.

Jamie stepped out first, stretching his shoulders, rolling out the tension. That's when the pain hit.

His left shoulder throbbed like fire, and when he glanced down, he saw the tear in his shirt—a graze wound.

"Shit," Jamie muttered under his breath, barely audible. He hadn't even noticed in the chaos.

Mason caught the movement and smirked. "About time you got here. And you're bleeding."

Jamie waved him off. "Just a scratch."

Mason raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Instead, he nodded toward the others. "We need to move fast. Hernandez's people won't stop coming."

Jamie exhaled, rolling his shoulder slightly. "Where the hell were you?"

Mason's smirk faded. "Securing an escape route. Got a cargo ship leaving in three hours. No checkpoints, no customs. From there, we get an extraction boat to Puerto Rico."

Bauer scoffed. "Or, we let the CIA handle this. I can have us exfil'd by sunrise."

Jamie's jaw clenched. He knew what that meant.

Ryan, even half-conscious, understood too. He muttered, "CIA extraction, huh? Wonder what price tag comes with that."

Jamie turned to Bauer, his voice low but edged with something sharp. "I don't trust your people, Bauer."

Bauer crossed his arms. "And you trust him?" He nodded at Mason.

Jamie didn't hesitate. "Yeah. I do."

Mason smirked but stayed quiet.

Bauer exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But if this cargo ship plan goes sideways, we're dead in the water."

Jamie cracked his neck. "Then let's not let it go sideways."

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Jamie barely had time to grab gauze from the med kit before he heard the first gunshot.

"DOWN!" Mason barked, shoving Jamie toward cover.

The windows shattered as bullets ripped through the walls.

Bauer returned fire instantly, dropping two men before they could push closer. The bastards were waiting for them.

"Move!" Jamie grabbed Ryan, hauling him toward the back exit as Mason covered their retreat.

Ryan grunted, his body weak, but he stayed on his feet. Barely.

Bauer lobbed a smoke grenade into the front hallway. The room filled with thick, choking fog.

"This way!" Mason called.

They moved fast, ducking through an alley, weaving through narrow streets.

The ambush had been sloppy—rushed. Hernandez's men weren't expecting them to leave so quickly.

By the time they reached the waiting car, the gunfire was already fading behind them.

Jamie threw himself into the backseat with Ryan, pressing gauze to his own shoulder wound, breathing hard.

Mason slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine. "Change of plans—we go straight to the dock."

Jamie exhaled sharply, checking Ryan's pulse. Still steady, but weak.

"Keep driving," Jamie muttered.

Mason nodded and floored the accelerator.

The Delta's following behind in a second car soon after.

They were getting the hell out.

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The dock was quiet, the massive cargo ship looming like a steel fortress under the dim lights.

Mason led them toward the loading ramp, moving with purpose. He flashed a forged manifest to the dock foreman, who barely looked up before waving them through.

Jamie barely cared. He just wanted to get Ryan to safety.

The inside of the ship was dimly lit, crates stacked high, the scent of salt and rust thick in the air.

Bauer leaned against the railing, pulling out a satellite phone. "Calling in the boat. We'll be in Puerto Rico by midday."

Jamie nodded, rubbing his face. The ache in his shoulder was dull now, fading into exhaustion.

Ryan, resting against a crate, looked up at him. His face was pale, but he was alive.

Jamie exhaled. They made it.

The horizon was already shifting, the deep black of night giving way to the first hints of blue and gold.

Mason, sitting on a crate nearby, smirked. "You ever get tired of this shit?"

Jamie chuckled dryly. "I keep telling myself I'm done. But here we are."

Ryan grinned weakly. "Face it, Knight. You were never built for normal."

Jamie shook his head. "Yeah, well… neither were you."

They sat there, the ship rocking gently beneath them, watching the sun rise.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

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Port, Santo Domingo, Puerto Rico, 10 am 

The boat rocked gently against the pier as Jamie stepped off, the sun blindingly bright after the long night.

The docks were quiet, far removed from the tourist hotspots, the kind of place where no one asked questions. A black SUV was already waiting for them.

Bauer's CIA contacts—two men in cheap suits with government-issue sunglasses—stood nearby, their expressions unreadable.

Bauer exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, boys. This is where we part ways."

Jamie ignored him, focused entirely on Ryan.

The moment they stepped onto solid ground, Ryan swayed.

Jamie caught him before he could collapse.

"Shit—" Jamie pressed his fingers to Ryan's side, feeling warmth—blood.

The stitches must have given out during the chaos.

Ryan tried to brush it off, grinning weakly. "I'm good—"

Jamie's voice was sharp. "No, you're not."

He turned to Mason, eyes hard with urgency. "We need a hospital. Now."

Bauer sighed but gestured to one of the CIA men. "Get them a car. Closest private clinic."

The agent nodded, stepping aside to pull a second vehicle from the dockside lot.

Bauer turned back to Jamie. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low and serious.

"You should stay out of Venezuela for a while," Bauer muttered.

Jamie stiffened. That tone.

"What happened?" Jamie asked.

Bauer exhaled. "Hernandez is still alive."

Jamie's blood ran cold.

"His men pulled him out before the cartel burned the place down," Bauer continued. "He's hurt, but he's not dead."

Mason cursed under his breath. "That son of a bitch doesn't know when to quit."

Bauer crossed his arms, looking at Jamie directly. "You and Ryan? You're marked men down there now."

Jamie already knew what he was going to say next.

"You need to lay low," Bauer said. "Let us handle it."

Jamie clenched his jaw. He hated leaving unfinished business, but right now, Ryan came first.

He exhaled, nodding once. "Fine. But if this bastard shows up again, I'm not waiting for permission."

Bauer smirked slightly. "Wouldn't expect you to."

The second car pulled up.

Jamie and Mason hauled Ryan inside, and without another word, they sped off toward the hospital.

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The hospital smelled like antiseptic and urgency.

Jamie barely remembered stepping out of the car before they were rushing Ryan down a hallway, fluorescent lights blurring overhead.

His heart pounded, but his hands remained steady—muscle memory, honed through years of battlefield trauma care and surgical precision.

Ryan's skin was clammy, his breaths uneven as he lay on the gurney, eyes fluttering between consciousness and exhaustion.

"Vitals?" Jamie barked.

One of the nurses hurried beside them. "BP dropping—90 over 60. Heart rate 120. Respiratory shallow. Hemoglobin at seven."

Jamie cursed under his breath. He was bleeding out faster than anticipated.

Ryan groaned, tilting his head toward Jamie. "I swear, if you cut me open again, Knight…"

Jamie squeezed his shoulder. "You'll thank me later."

Ryan let out a weak chuckle before his body shuddered involuntarily, his hands twitching.

Jamie's gut tightened.

Time was running out.

The double doors to the emergency OR burst open, and Jamie followed the gurney inside.

The attending surgeon, a clean-cut Puerto Rican doctor in his late thirties, stepped forward, eyes sharp but questioning.

"You're the one who performed the last operation?" the doctor asked, grabbing a pair of gloves.

Jamie nodded. "Midline incision, mesenteric artery ligation, bowel repair. His vitals were stable until we started moving again. There's new internal bleeding."

The doctor nodded, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "I appreciate the report, Dr. Knight, but I can take it from here."

Jamie didn't move.

"I'm scrubbing in," Jamie said, voice leaving no room for argument.

The doctor gave him a sharp look. "Doctor, I understand he's your friend, but you've been running on adrenaline for—"

Ryan, barely conscious, grunted from the gurney.

"Let… him do it…" Ryan slurred.

The doctor sighed heavily, then threw a glance at the charge nurse. "Get him a gown."

Jamie was already rolling up his sleeves.

He scrubbed in fast, mechanically, the scent of antiseptic soap grounding him. This wasn't the first time he had done surgery under exhaustion.

Wouldn't be the last.

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OR

The lights were blindingly bright, the sterile blue drapes already positioned around Ryan's exposed abdomen.

The suction gurgled, already working to keep the field clear of excess blood.

Ryan's chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths—his vitals weak but holding under the anesthesia.

The lead surgeon, Dr. Santiago, stood across from Jamie, a set of sterile clamps in his gloved hands.

"Let's make this fast," Santiago said. "If it's a mesenteric re-bleed, we need to find the source before he crashes."

Jamie nodded. He grabbed a fresh scalpel. The moment he touched the blade to Ryan's previous incision line, his hands took over—muscle memory, instinct, precision.

"Extending the original midline incision," Jamie muttered. The scalpel sliced through old sutures, re-exposing the abdominal cavity. A deep well of blood pooled instantly.

Santiago swore under his breath. "Active hemorrhage. Retractors, now."

The nurses moved fast, passing lap sponges to soak up the blood, then placed metal retractors to hold the incision open.

Jamie reached inside, gloved fingers moving expertly, his mind filtering through possibilities.

There—

A severed arterial branch, near the original repair. A suture had loosened.

Jamie pressed gauze against the source, applying immediate pressure.

"He's bleeding from the lower mesenteric," Jamie said. "Suture failure."

Santiago handed him a fresh set of vascular clamps. "You get it?"

Jamie's fingers moved quickly, placing the clamps on the artery to temporarily halt the bleeding.

Ryan's vitals stabilized slightly, the monitor beeping in a more controlled rhythm.

"Got it clamped," Jamie muttered. "Now ligating."

He grabbed a 4-0 silk suture, threading it with practiced ease.

"Double-ligating the vessel," Jamie murmured, tying off the artery with a surgeon's precision. He reinforced it, adding an extra stitch this time.

No more room for mistakes.

Santiago watched, nodding approvingly. "Not bad, Knight."

Jamie didn't respond. He was already checking the rest of the bowel for any missed perforations.

There.

A tiny tear near the anastomosis site.

"Small bowel defect," Jamie announced. "I'm closing it now."

He grabbed a PDS suture, working quickly to repair the bowel without disrupting circulation.

It was clean, precise, done in under three minutes.

Jamie finally exhaled.

"No more active bleeding," he said. "We're closing."

Santiago nodded, already assisting with the closure layers—peritoneum, muscle, fascia, skin.

Jamie worked methodically, layering perfect sutures.

By the time they finished, Ryan's vitals had improved.

Jamie pulled back, staring down at the closed incision.

The relief hit him hard.

It was done.

Ryan was going to make it.

Jamie let out a slow breath, pulling his gloves off.

Santiago smirked slightly. "You don't trust people easily, do you?"

Jamie raised a brow.

Santiago chuckled. "You could've let me take this case. But you didn't."

Jamie just shrugged, stripping off his surgical gown. "Didn't have time for mistakes."

Santiago huffed. "You're a control freak, Knight."

Jamie cracked a tired smirk. "Yeah. You're not wrong."

Santiago just laughed, shaking his head as he pulled his gloves off. "At least he had the right guy watching his back."

Jamie glanced toward Ryan's unconscious form, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

Yeah.

At least he got this one right.

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Recovery Room

Jamie sat next to Ryan's bed, arms crossed, exhaustion settling in.

Mason leaned against the wall, watching silently.

Ryan, still half-drugged, mumbled something as he blinked groggily.

Jamie leaned forward. "What?"

Ryan grinned sleepily.

"I'm still alive, huh?"

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Barely."

Ryan let out a weak chuckle, then winced. "You do good work, kid."

Jamie huffed. "You better not make me do this a third time."

Ryan smirked, but his eyelids were already drooping. "No promises…"

Within seconds, he was asleep again.

Jamie rubbed his face, exhaling deeply.

Mason finally spoke. "You good?"

Jamie nodded, his voice rough. "Yeah. He's good."

Mason smirked. "Then get some sleep before you pass out."

Jamie let out a small laugh.

Maybe.

But for now?

He was just grateful Ryan was still breathing.

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The air in Miami was warm, humid, and carried the distant scent of salt from the ocean. The horizon stretched wide, the sun beginning to dip behind the skyline, casting long shadows over the tarmac.

Jamie stood near the private terminal, arms crossed, duffel slung over his shoulder. His body ached—not just from the exhaustion, but from the past week of chaos.

Mason and Ryan stood a few feet away, watching him.

Mason, ever the picture of calm and control, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Ryan, still moving slow from the Puerto Rico surgery, but alive, arms crossed over his chest. The bruises and stitches made him look like hell, but the smirk on his face said he didn't give a damn.

Jamie shook his head, exhaling. "This feels weird."

Mason raised a brow. "What? Leaving?"

Jamie shrugged. "Saying goodbye."

Ryan scoffed. "You make it sound like we're never seeing each other again."

Jamie huffed. "We better not—not like this."

Mason smirked, shifting his weight. "I don't know. I think we made a pretty good team."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because nearly dying twice was a blast."

Mason chuckled. "Well, it wouldn't have been the same without you."

Ryan grinned lazily. "That's what I keep telling him."

Jamie sighed, rubbing his temple.

This was their dynamic. Always had been.

Even after everything—even after years apart, after gunfights and surgeries, after almost losing Ryan twice—it still felt like they could fall into this rhythm without missing a beat.

And now, it was ending.

For now.

Mason glanced toward the waiting private jet. "You sure you want to go back to Seattle?"

Jamie smirked. "Yeah. Someone has to actually save lives legally."

Ryan snorted. "Lame."

Jamie raised a brow. "Says the guy who nearly bled out in a cartel hospital."

Ryan grinned, eyes flashing. "And who saved me?"

Jamie exhaled through his nose. "I hate you."

Ryan laughed.

Mason clapped a hand on Jamie's shoulder. "You did good, man."

Jamie looked at him, expression softening just slightly. "So did you."

Mason nodded. "We'll catch up again. Under better circumstances."

Jamie tilted his head. "You sure about that?"

Mason smirked. "Nope."

Jamie laughed, shaking his head.

Ryan gave him a mock-salute. "Safe travels, Blue Eyes."

Jamie rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Take care of yourself, old man."

Ryan smirked, but there was something real behind his eyes. "I'll try."

Jamie nodded once, then turned toward the waiting jet.

He didn't look back.

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Jamie stepped off the plane into the cold, familiar air of Seattle.

The moment his feet hit the tarmac, reality set in.

No gunfire.

No cartel safe houses.

No CIA handlers watching his every move.

Just home.

He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and exhaled, rolling his sore shoulder—his bullet graze still healing, a subtle reminder that he hadn't walked away untouched.

His phone buzzed.

A message from Derek.

You better be alive. Webber's gonna kill you if you don't show up tomorrow.

Jamie smirked, shaking his head as he typed back.

Yeah. I'm alive. See you tomorrow.

Jamie slid into the back of a taxi, leaning his head against the cool window as the city lights blurred past. The rain had started again—a light drizzle, misting the streets, so familiar it almost felt surreal after everything.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before pulling out his phone.

One number. One person he needed to call before anything else.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Jamie?"

Jamie closed his eyes for a second, letting the warmth in her voice settle something deep inside him.

"Hey, Grandma."

A pause. Then, a soft sigh. "You're home."

Jamie let his head rest against the seat. "Yeah."

Her silence spoke volumes.

She knew—knew without asking—that wherever he had gone, whatever he had done, it wasn't a simple business trip.

"Are you alright?" she asked, gentle but firm.

Jamie hesitated, rolling his sore shoulder before exhaling. "I am now."

Another pause.

Then, softer, "You sound tired, mi amor."

Jamie smiled faintly. "Long few days."

A knowing hum. "Did you eat?"

Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. "I just got off the plane, Grandma."

"That wasn't an answer," she scolded lightly.

Jamie let out a tired laugh. "No, I didn't eat yet."

She made a noise of disapproval. "You vanish for days, come back, and you haven't even eaten?"

Jamie smirked. "Didn't realize that was my biggest offense."

Her voice softened. "It's the only one I can do something about."

Jamie swallowed, warmth blooming in his chest.

For a moment, the weight of everything—the gunfights, the surgeries, the near-misses, the exhaustion—faded.

He wasn't Major Knight. He wasn't Dr. Knight.

He was just Jamie.

Her grandson.

"I'll eat when I get home," he promised.

A beat of silence.

Then, quieter—"I'm glad you're back."

Jamie nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "Me too."

She sighed, then—"Get some sleep, Jamie."

Jamie closed his eyes. "I will."

She didn't believe him, but she let it go.

"Goodnight, mi amor."

"Goodnight, Grandma."

Jamie ended the call, exhaling as the car rolled through the quiet streets.

For the first time in days—maybe even weeks—he felt like he could breathe.

Tomorrow, life would go back to normal.

But for tonight?

Tonight, he was home.