Jamie woke up feeling… normal. It was such a rare occurrence that for a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. No jolting awake drenched in sweat, no echoes of gunfire ringing in his ears, no intrusive memories pulling him under. Just the quiet hum of the city outside and the golden light creeping through his floor-to-ceiling windows.
A full night of sleep. He had almost forgotten what that felt like.
Stretching out the tightness in his shoulders, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. Last night had been good. Drinks with Derek, actual conversations that didn't revolve around work, and—for once—no ghosts lurking in the corners of his mind.
He wasn't naïve enough to believe the peace would last. But he'd take what he could get.
By 6 AM, Jamie was already deep into his morning workout, sweat rolling down his back as he pushed through his last set of pull-ups. His body thrived on routine—movement, discipline, control. It was what kept him sharp, what kept the memories at bay.
After a quick shower, he made breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, black coffee. Simple, efficient, no nonsense. He didn't have much of an appetite in the mornings, but years in the military had trained him to eat for function, not just hunger.
Then, the piano.
Sliding onto the bench, he let his fingers find the keys, playing the same melody his mother used to. Slow, steady, familiar. The notes filled the space, anchoring him in the moment, reminding him that some things—some parts of himself—still belonged to him.
He finished the last note, exhaled, and grabbed his keys.
Time to go to work.
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Seattle's roads were still mostly empty as Jamie sped down the highway, the city skyline stretching ahead of him. He wasn't trying to push the speed limit—it just happened. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from the gym, or maybe he just liked the feeling of control.
Whatever the reason, it didn't matter the moment he saw red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror.
"Ah, shit."
Sighing, he pulled over, rolled down his window, and waited as the officer approached.
The cop was mid-40s, solid build, with that unmistakable I've had enough of rich assholes today expression. He glanced at Jamie's car—a sleek, high-performance machine that definitely screamed rich guy with no respect for the law—and shook his head.
"License and registration."
Jamie handed them over, watching as the officer flipped through them. "You know how fast you were going, Dr. Knight?"
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Didn't realize my profession was listed on my registration."
The cop's eyes narrowed. "Hospital parking permit, MD plates. Not hard to figure out."
Fair enough.
"You Doctors always think the rules don't apply to you," the cop continued, pulling out his ticket book. "What, you saving lives gives you a free pass?"
Jamie was about to argue when the officer's partner—who had been standing back, observing—stepped closer.
"Hold up," the second cop muttered, his eyes narrowing as he got a better look at Jamie. "Holy shit… Major Knight?"
Jamie turned to him, frowning. The guy was younger, maybe mid-30s, broad-shouldered, built like someone who'd seen real combat. And there was something familiar in his face.
The cop took off his sunglasses, and suddenly, Jamie knew.
2004. Afghanistan. The convoy. The mine.
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Flashback: Helmand Province, 2004
Jamie had seen his fair share of explosions. Enough to recognize the specific, stomach-churning thump of a buried mine going off.
One second, the Humvee in front of him was rolling along the dusty road. The next, it was a fireball.
The force of the blast sent shockwaves through the convoy, ripping through the vehicle like it was made of paper. Jamie barely had time to register the ringing in his ears before the radio crackled with panicked voices.
"Alpha-2 is down! Repeat—Alpha-2 is down! We've got wounded—multiple wounded!"
Jamie was already moving before the call finished, grabbing his med pack and sprinting toward the wreckage. Heat radiated off the twisted metal, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning fuel and charred flesh.
Bodies were sprawled out—some moving, some too still.
"Knight, we gotta wait for clearance—"
"Screw that," Jamie snapped, already dropping to his knees beside the nearest wounded soldier. He was young—couldn't have been more than 25—his uniform soaked in blood, eyes wide with panic.
"S-staff Sergeant—" the soldier choked, trying to push himself up.
"Don't move," Jamie ordered, pressing his hands against the gaping wound in the man's abdomen. Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and too much. "You're gonna be fine. Just stay with me."
The soldier—Sergeant Jacob Calloway, his name patch read—was losing blood fast. Jamie reached into his pack, pulled out QuikClot, and pressed it hard against the wound. The heat reaction kicked in immediately, the clotting agent working to stem the bleeding.
"Pulse is weak," another medic called over. "BP's tanking!"
Jamie grabbed an IV line. "Get me a line in—18 gauge, wide open fluids. He's hemorrhaging."
Calloway's breathing was shallow, his skin already turning clammy. Jamie clenched his jaw. Not today.
"Alright, buddy," Jamie murmured as he pulled out a needle. "I need to do a needle decompression. You're gonna feel some pressure."
He positioned the large-bore needle between the second and third rib and punctured. A hiss of air escaped—tension pneumothorax. His lung had been collapsing under the pressure, but now he had a shot.
"Stay with me, Sergeant," Jamie said firmly. "We're getting you out of here."
The medevac arrived just in time.
And as they lifted Calloway onto the chopper, Jamie gripped his wrist briefly. "You're gonna make it."
Calloway had barely been conscious, but his lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "Thanks, Doc."
Back to the Present
The officer standing in front of him—the cop who had been silent until now—was Sergeant Jacob Calloway.
Jamie stared at him, then let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Didn't expect to run into you here. Sergeant Calloway"
Calloway shook his head, still looking like he'd seen a ghost. "Man, I—" He exhaled sharply, gripping his belt. "I never got to thank you. They shipped me stateside before I even knew your name."
Jamie smirked. "You already thanked me. You didn't die."
Calloway let out a dry chuckle. "Still. I owe you one." He turned to his partner, who still looked thoroughly confused. "Tear that ticket up."
The first cop frowned. "What? He was doing—"
"Tear it up," Calloway repeated, his voice firm. "This guy saved my life."
After a beat, the cop sighed and shoved his ticket book away. "Fine. But slow the hell down, Doc."
Jamie grinned. "Yes, sir."
As he pulled back onto the road, he shook his head in amusement.
Of all the people to pull him over, it had to be him.
Seattle was weird.
And honestly? He kind of loved it.
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The Weight of Consequences
Jamie strode into the hospital, still riding the buzz of a rare full night's sleep and the unexpected run-in with Calloway. He was actually in a good mood, which, for Seattle Grace, felt like tempting fate.
It was short-lived.
Bailey was already on a warpath when he walked into the resident's lounge, her sharp voice cutting through the early morning haze.
"Am I keeping you, O'Malley?"
Jamie turned just in time to see George quickly shove his phone away like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner. Bailey's gaze was locked on him, unimpressed.
"M&M in ten minutes, people."
Alex, sitting at the counter, perked up immediately. "We get to go to M&M?"
George frowned. "Even if we haven't finished our rounds?"
Bailey gave them both a pointed look. "Even if. I want all of you at the M&M today."
Alex, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, pumped his fist. "Yes!"
Jamie shook his head, sipping his coffee. He didn't love M&Ms, but they were necessary. A hospital had to learn from its mistakes—sometimes brutal, gut-wrenching mistakes.
Bailey's voice softened slightly as she turned to a waiting couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Niles," she greeted, switching from drill sergeant to compassionate doctor in an instant.
The husband, looking tired but grateful, nodded. "We kind of got turned around on our way to admitting."
"Not a problem," Bailey said. She turned to Alex. "Karev, Mrs. Niles is scheduled for a mastectomy tomorrow. Why don't you show her and her husband up to the fifth floor?"
Jamie caught a glimpse of the baby in Mr. Niles' arms. The little guy was fussing, his tiny face scrunched up in frustration.
Bailey's face softened as she reached for him. "Is this the little man? He's adorable."
"Not so adorable at four in the morning when he won't take a bottle," Mrs. Niles muttered, exhausted. "Can we just get to the room?"
Bailey nodded, expertly bouncing the baby. "Why don't I take you up?" she offered, her tone warm and soothing. "Try a little sugar water on the bottle—just until he gets used to it."
Jamie watched the exchange with a quiet appreciation. Bailey had a way with people. He might outrank her, but in this moment, she was exactly the doctor these people needed.
Behind him, Meredith whispered, "That woman has breast cancer? What is she, 30 years old?"
Alex, in full Karev mode, shrugged. "New baby. She probably thought the lump was a milk gland. You learn things on the vagina squad."
Jamie exhaled through his nose. "Really, Karev?"
Christina, unfazed, cut through the conversation. "Focus, people. M&M. Insults flying, residents covering their asses. Our bosses getting kicked in the teeth instead of us. Seats. Snacks."
Jamie followed the group toward the lecture hall, the heavy weight of why they were attending settling over him.
Jamie took a seat toward the back, arms crossed as he scanned the room. He didn't usually attend these unless he was directly involved in the case, but this one… he'd heard whispers about it ever since he arrived.
Something about an intern, a heart transplant, and an impossible choice.
Christina slid into the seat beside Burke, who was already sitting stiffly at the end of the row. "Hey, I didn't know you were coming to the M&M."
Burke barely looked at her. "You brought snacks?"
Christina smirked. "Yeah. You okay? No surgeries today, right?" She hesitated. "I mean, I'm ready if you need—"
"No. No surgeries," Burke said quickly.
Jamie wasn't convinced.
The room quieted as Chief Webber stepped to the podium. "Okay, people. Let's begin."
The case details flashed onto the screen, and Jamie immediately recognized the patient number.
"Patient #34986 died last month from complications following a heart transplant," Webber announced. "Dr. Burke will present."
Alex muttered under his breath, "You guys… isn't patient #34986…"
Meredith's eyes widened. "Denny…"
Christina exhaled sharply. "Eight million."
Jamie furrowed his brow. "What?"
"Eight million dollars," Christina clarified, eyes locked on the screen. "8 million could get us on a plane to somewhere far, far away."
Jamie had seen plenty of malpractice lawsuits in his time, but something about this one felt off. The way the room tensed, the way the residents shifted uncomfortably in their seats… there was more to this than just a transplant gone wrong.
Burke stepped forward, voice steady. "Cause of death was an embolus that dislodged from the suture line and caused a cerebrovascular accident, leading to brain stem herniation."
Around the room, hands shot up.
"So the company line is he died from a CVA?" a resident challenged.
Burke's expression didn't waver. "There is no company line. That's how he died."
Another voice, sharper this time: "Let's get back to this patient's need for an emergent transplant. You're saying his left ventricle had been weakened by the LVAD malfunction?"
Burke inhaled. "His left ventricle was weakened by the fact that he had congestive heart failure."
Jamie rubbed his chin. Something was definitely missing here.
Dr. Savoy, an attending Jamie didn't particularly like, leaned forward. "Please, Dr. Burke. We all know the LVAD was cut by an intern."
Jamie blinked. What?
Beside him, George muttered, "I'm going to my happy place…"
Burke, calm but firm, replied, "The events remain unclear."
Savoy scoffed. "It's unclear to you because you were in the ER with a gunshot wound. Why aren't we hearing from Dr. Bailey? She was the senior physician on the case."
Burke squared his shoulders. "I'm the attending on record."
That didn't stop the weight of the room from shifting toward Bailey.
Jamie watched as she slowly stood and approached the podium. He knew that look—the weight of responsibility, the fine balance between truth and survival.
"Yes, I was the resident in charge," Bailey said, voice steady despite the storm brewing in the room.
"The medical facts have been presented. Are there any questions for me?"
Every single hand shot up.
Jamie leaned back in his seat, watching the carnage unfold.
This was going to be brutal.
The tension in the room was rising. Jamie sat back in his chair, arms crossed, observing the dissection of the Denny Duquette case unfold. He had seen battlefield debriefs that were less cutthroat than this.
Dr. Savoy, who had taken it upon himself to be the inquisition leader, adjusted his glasses and turned his attention back to Bailey, his tone as condescending as ever.
"You recently had a baby, Dr. Bailey?"
Bailey's expression barely flickered, but Jamie saw the tightening of her jaw.
"I don't see what that has to do with—"
Savoy interrupted smoothly. "Sleep deprivation, coupled with wild swings in hormone levels, are factors that could cloud anyone's judgment."
Jamie's grip on his pen tightened. Here we go.
Bailey, to her credit, kept her voice steady. "I sleep just fine, Dr. Savoy."
Savoy smirked slightly, like a predator circling a wounded animal. "Really? Because if a patient died due to my poor decision-making, I'd lose a little sleep over it."
Jamie felt his stomach turn. This wasn't a review; this was an attack.
Webber's voice cut through the thick air. "Let me remind everyone that our purpose here is not to place blame. This is a forum to discuss mistakes in patient care and learn from them."
Jamie glanced at Webber. He was trying to maintain control, but the storm in the room was already gathering force.
Savoy wasn't done. "Well, so far, I haven't heard Dr. Bailey admit to a mistake."
Jamie caught Christina whispering to Meredith from across the room.
"Why don't they just put a bullet in the back of her head?"
Meredith sighed.
Savoy continued pressing. "So for a period of several hours, your interns were running amok in the hospital unsupervised."
Bailey stood her ground. "I'm waiting for a question."
Savoy's lips twitched into a smirk. "The question is: Where were you?"
Jamie exhaled sharply. Here it comes.
Bailey didn't waver. "There was the shooting, and the ER was chaotic."
Savoy leaned forward. "The ER is always chaotic. Did you page them during this time?"
Bailey nodded. "Yes, I paged them several times."
Savoy let the room sit in silence for a moment before delivering his next strike. "So apparently, they thought it was okay to ignore your pages. Dr. Bailey, why do you think your interns have so much contempt for your authority?"
A murmur rippled through the audience. Bailey's authority was legendary. This was personal now.
Alex's voice cut through the air. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
Every head in the room snapped toward Karev, who was on his feet, face red with anger.
Bailey turned to him, her voice steel. "Dr. Karev, sit down."
Jamie's eyes darted toward the doorway, where a familiar figure stood, barely holding herself up.
Izzie.
She looked pale, disoriented, her hand pressed against her temple like she was trying to hold herself together.
Jamie barely had time to process her presence before George whispered, "Izzie…"
Bailey's eyes flickered with something unreadable before she turned back to the room.
"Next question."
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Jamie had seen this kind of reaction before—shock, detachment, and the quiet kind of pain that only came when everything a person had built their life around collapsed under them.
Izzie Stevens was unraveling, and even if she pretended she wasn't, Jamie could see it clear as day.
He watched as George led Izzie away, his protective instincts kicking in. Jamie wasn't particularly close with Izzie, but he understood loss, and he knew that whatever pep talks or distractions George was planning weren't going to be enough.
Deciding to keep an eye on things, Jamie trailed them from a distance, casually heading toward the same hallway where George and Izzie had stopped outside a patient's room.
As they approached the patient's room, Jamie fell into step beside George and Izzie, catching the tail end of their conversation.
"I know how the rumor mill works around here, George," Izzie muttered, crossing her arms. "I'm the crazy intern, and now I'm the crazy intern whose friends have to babysit her."
George, ever the optimist, tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. "You know what we should talk about? What you're going to do with that money after you don't destroy it."
Izzie rolled her eyes, ready to fire back, but as they reached the door, an entirely different distraction presented itself.
Through the slightly open door, there was movement—a patient shifting in bed, the rustle of sheets. At first, Jamie assumed someone needed help, but then—
"Oh," Izzie said, blinking. "Are those people… having sex?"
George recoiled so fast it was like he'd been burned. "Not looking! Definitely not looking."
Jamie arched a brow, leaning slightly to get a better view. Inside, Adam and Sonja—two patients he vaguely recognized—were tangled up together, mid-argument but still very much intertwined.
"They were having sex," Addison's voice cut in as she approached, perfectly composed. "Now they're just fighting." She gave the trio a once-over before adding, "Good to have you back, Stevens."
"I'm not back," Izzie corrected automatically. "I'm fine. Just… not back."
Jamie shot her a glance. Not back wasn't the same as fine, but he kept that thought to himself.
Izzie turned her attention back to Addison, squinting slightly. "Hey, you're Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd. That's a lot of names. A lot of rich-sounding names."
Addison raised a brow, but let her continue.
"You're rich, right?" Izzie asked, then immediately winced. "That was rude. That was a rude question."
Jamie smirked slightly, watching the interaction unfold.
Izzie powered through. "It's just that I'm rich now too."
George groaned. "You're not rich until you deposit the check."
"Technicalities," Izzie muttered.
Addison exhaled, arms crossed. "Do you ever feel guilty?" Izzie asked, her voice quieter now. "Being rich, I mean? Because I have money now, and I don't really feel like I did anything to deserve it. And I can't talk to my friends about it because they're all so poor."
Jamie let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Standing right here, Stevens."
Izzie ignored him, eyes locked on Addison.
Addison studied her for a moment before replying, "Deposit the check, Stevens. Just start there. And the guilt will work itself out."
Izzie didn't look convinced, but before she could respond, Jamie finally spoke up.
"It's not the money you feel guilty about."
Izzie turned to him, frowning. "Excuse me?"
Jamie shrugged. "The money's just a symbol. What's really eating at you is why you have it. Because Denny died."
Silence stretched between them. Izzie's expression flickered for the briefest moment before she forced out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Well, aren't you insightful."
Jamie wasn't fazed. "If you're gonna be mad at yourself, at least be mad about the right thing."
Izzie opened her mouth like she was about to argue, but no words came. George shifted awkwardly beside her, clearly wanting to help but unsure how.
Addison clapped her hands together, cutting through the tension. "Great talk. Now, unless you all want to keep watching the ongoing drama in room 312, I suggest we move along."
Jamie took the out and stepped back, falling into stride beside George as they left. Izzie lingered for a moment, then finally followed.
"You didn't earn the money, Izzie," Jamie said as they rounded the corner. "But that doesn't mean you have to punish yourself for it."
Izzie didn't respond right away. Then, in a quiet voice, she muttered, "Yeah. Well. Easy for you to say."
Jamie exhaled but let it go. She wasn't ready to hear it. Maybe she never would be.
But at least now, she knew she wasn't fooling him.
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Meredith stood beside Addison, arms crossed, staring at the monitor as the latest X-ray flickered onto the screen. Adam and Sonja, both awkwardly still on the examination table, exchanged sideways glances.
"I did this for you, you know," Adam muttered, breaking the silence.
Sonja exhaled sharply. "You have got to stop doing things for me," she shot back. "I'm with Tom now. I love Tom."
Adam scoffed, shifting slightly despite Meredith's warning glance. "I still can't believe you left me for that guy. What does Tom have that I don't?"
Sonja barely hesitated. "Well, for one, he doesn't have a pierced—"
"Both of you need to stay completely still," Meredith interrupted before that sentence could finish. "Or we're going to have to do this scan again."
Sonja rolled her eyes but stayed put. "We fought through nineteen years of marriage. The only time we didn't fight was when we were having sex."
Adam smirked, clearly enjoying himself despite the situation. "I still love you."
Before Sonja could respond, the door swung open.
"Mom? Dad?"
Sonja closed her eyes, her entire body tensing. "Scratch that," she muttered. "Now I'm in hell."
Meredith turned, taking in the newcomer—a girl in her early twenties, arms crossed, expression flipping between mortified and furious. Jennifer.
"Jennifer," Meredith started carefully, "maybe you want to go wait in the—"
"You guys are so paying for my therapy," Jennifer cut in. "And my rent. And my new car."
Adam, without missing a beat, nodded. "Of course, sweetie."
Sonja turned to glare at him. "Oh, coddle her. Like she doesn't already have enough entitlement issues."
Jennifer's glare sharpened. "You are old enough to know that your parents are sexual beings and that they make mistakes," Sonja continued, as if that was supposed be a reasonable explanation.
Jennifer's expression darkened. "Oh. Is that what you call this, Mom? A mistake?" She turned to Adam. "Because I call this you once again being a complete idiot."
Adam blinked. "Honey, it's complicated—"
Jennifer turned back to Sonja. "And you—I thought you finally had your life together. Look at you! Cheating on your husband with your ex-husband. And Dad, what about you? You said you were moving on, that you were going to start dating."
Adam shrugged. "I was. I am."
Jennifer made a noise somewhere between a groan and a scream, throwing her hands in the air. "I cannot with you two!"
Addison, who had been calmly reviewing the images the entire time, finally turned to the room. "Well," she said smoothly, "it seems your IUD has dislodged from your uterus, hooked onto your husband's piercing, and is now embedded in your vaginal wall."
Dead silence.
Jennifer blinked. "Did she just say piercing?"
Meredith sighed. "Daughter."
Addison gave an all-too-pleased smile. "Perfect."
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Burke sat at his desk, staring at the blank page in front of him. His pen hovered above it, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. It had been getting worse.
He flexed his right hand, trying to will the tremor away, but it refused to settle. His grip faltered, the pen slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the desk.
A knock on the door barely registered before the door creaked open.
"Hi," Izzie said softly, stepping inside. "I just wanted to say hi."
Burke exhaled through his nose, keeping his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him. "Hello, Dr. Stevens."
She hesitated, shifting on her feet. "Denny left me eight million dollars. Eight point seven, actually." Her voice was light, almost casual, but there was something brittle underneath. "Did you know that he had money? Because I didn't know."
Burke finally looked up, his face impassive. "No, I didn't know."
Izzie let out a short, humorless laugh. "I'm thinking about using it to travel. Maybe go to Italy. I've never been there before. I hear Venice is amazing."
Burke's hand was still trembling slightly as he reached for his pen again. "Izzie..."
"I'm fine," she interrupted, her voice a little too quick, too forced. "Really, I am. Everyone thinks I'm not, but I'm fine."
Burke's lips pressed into a thin line. "You're fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"So." She clasped her hands in front of her, as if she was waiting for something.
Burke inhaled sharply through his nose. "I got shot," he said, finally meeting her gaze. "I got shot because I was coming back to the hospital to check on Denny. Because you asked me to."
Izzie flinched but didn't look away.
Burke continued, his voice lower now, but no less firm. "I'm not fine. Denny asked you to marry him, and now he's dead. You're not fine. So don't come in here and—just—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "We're not fine."
Izzie swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said, barely above a whisper. "We were friends. You were my boss, but I think we were friends too. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. And I know there's nothing I can do to take it back."
Burke held her gaze for a long moment. "No."
She took a small step forward, her expression pleading. "Preston, please."
Burke exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. His hand was still shaking, but he didn't try to hide it. "You quit."
Izzie blinked. "What?"
"You quit being a surgeon," Burke said, his voice steady but edged with something unreadable. "You have two good hands, and you aren't using them." He leaned forward slightly, his stare unwavering. "Feel guilty about that."
Izzie's breath hitched, but she didn't argue. Instead, she just nodded slowly, turning on her heel and walking out of the office.
Burke let out a long breath as the door clicked shut behind her.
Then, without thinking, he picked up his pen again, gripping it tightly. His hand trembled once more, but this time, he didn't let it fall.
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Radiology Room
"Adam, quit grabbing my leg!" Sonja snapped.
"I am not grabbing you anywhere, she is!" Adam shot back, shifting uncomfortably on the X-ray table.
Christina pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Morris, we need to position you correctly to get a clear image."
"Dr. Yang, move him a little to the left," Addison directed, her focus on the scan. Then she noticed Chief Webber stepping into the room and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
The Chief folded his arms, looking unimpressed. "I heard about it. I had to see it. And now I've seen enough."
"Dr. Yang, I need you to lift him a little as you pull him," Addison continued, ignoring the Chief's commentary.
"I'm trying," Christina gritted out, adjusting her grip.
A collective cry of pain erupted from the couple.
"Lift his right leg 20 degrees," the Chief instructed. Then, as Adam grimaced, he barked, "Freeze! Hold that position!"
Addison turned to Meredith, who was standing at the foot of the table. "Dr. Grey, can you kind of slowly swirl Mrs. Kellman in a counterclockwise direction?"
Meredith blinked. "Swirl?"
Sonja echoed, "Swirl?"
"Swirl," Christina deadpanned.
From behind the glass, Addison and the Chief simultaneously made hand gestures—small circling motions, like instructors teaching a bad dance class.
Meredith sighed. "Fine." She followed their instructions and carefully rotated Sonja's lower body.
"Oh God, Sonja," Adam groaned.
Sonja exhaled sharply. "Oh, Adam, not now!"
"Careful! Careful!" the Chief warned.
"On my count," Addison said, stepping closer to the table. "Dr. Yang and Dr. Grey, I need you to slowly, gently pull them apart."
Meredith and Christina nodded.
"One… two… three!"
The two women pulled in unison, finally separating the couple.
For a brief second, everything seemed fine. Then Adam's body started convulsing.
Christina's stomach dropped. "Oh—"
"He's having a—" Meredith's eyes widened. "Heart attack! He's having a heart attack!"
Christina exhaled sharply. "Oh thank God. I mean—code blue!"
A nurse was already running for the crash cart as the monitors started blaring warnings.
"We need to get him to an OR now, or he's going to die," Chief Webber barked, already walking fast as the gurney sped toward the elevators.
"Who's the cardiac surgeon on call?" Addison asked as she hurried alongside them.
"Dr. Harrison, but he's in surgery," a nurse responded.
Chief Webber exhaled sharply. "Where's Burke?"
Christina hesitated. "He's in the conference room. But he's not on the board yet."
That didn't matter.
A second later, Burke was striding toward them. "He is now. Notify the OR. Let's move, people. Move!"
Christina fell into step beside him, keeping her voice low. "How do we do this?"
Burke's eyes stayed forward. "Stand on my right side."
"Your right side…"
"And if at any time in the procedure—"
"If you tremor…" Christina finished for him.
"I'll look at you, and you'll know to slide in and do the sutures we practiced."
Christina's mind was racing. "What if one of the scrub nurses notices? What if they say something?"
Burke's voice was tight. "Christina, I can't walk away from this surgery. If I do, this man will die. Tremor or no tremor, I have to try. But you—"
"I'm your intern," she interrupted, her voice resolute. "I'll be there on your right side."
Burke didn't say anything else, but the flicker of relief in his eyes was undeniable.
Behind them, Jamie had been listening.
And he'd heard enough.
Scrub Room
Burke stood at the sink, scrubbing his hands with a tension that hadn't been there in years. The weight of this surgery—the risk, the exposure—was palpable.
Jamie entered without a word, stepping up to the sink beside him. Burke glanced at him through the mirror, surprised.
"You're not on this case," Burke said, voice clipped.
Jamie turned on the faucet and started scrubbing in. "I am now."
Burke exhaled sharply through his nose. "I don't need an assist."
Jamie didn't look up. "Good. Because that's not what I'm here for."
Burke stilled, his hands tightening under the water.
Jamie continued, voice calm but unwavering. "I know, Burke. And you know I know." He reached for the sterile soap, methodically working it into his hands. "So here's how this goes—you walk in there like you always do, you take the lead, and we get this guy through surgery. But if you hesitate, even for a second, I take over. No debate."
Burke said nothing.
Jamie rinsed off, grabbing a sterile towel. "This is the last time," he added, voice even but firm. "If you don't fix this, someone else will figure it out. And they won't be as nice about it."
A long beat of silence.
Then Burke gave a single, barely perceptible nod.
Jamie exhaled, then followed him into the OR.
The OR was a controlled storm of movement. Nurses moved with precision, the anesthesia team monitored vitals, and instruments gleamed under the bright overhead lights. The sound of the ventilator and steady beeping of the monitors provided the only rhythm.
Burke stepped up to the table first. His hands were gloved, his posture straight, but Jamie didn't miss the tension in his shoulders.
Cristina took her place at his right, hyper-focused. Jamie was directly across from them, keeping a sharp eye on everything.
Burke cleared his throat. "10-blade."
The scrub nurse handed it over, and Burke made the initial incision with practiced ease, cutting through the skin and subcutaneous tissue. No hesitation yet.
Jamie, watching closely, gave Cristina the first test.
"Yang, what comes next?"
She was ready. "Median sternotomy. We divide the sternum to access the heart."
Burke reached for the sternal saw. Jamie watched.
The saw buzzed to life as Burke made the cut, separating the sternum. He placed the retractor, spreading the chest cavity.
"Vitals?" Jamie asked, his eyes flicking to anesthesia.
"BP stable. Sinus rhythm holding, but we need to move fast."
Jamie nodded. His eyes flicked back to Burke. He was fine—for now.
Burke moved to the pericardium, lifting the scalpel to make the incision.
Jamie's body tensed. He saw it.
The tremor.
Burke hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but Jamie caught it.
His voice calm. "Burke."
Burke's grip tightened.
Jamie didn't wait for a mistake.
"I'm taking over."
Burke's jaw clenched, but he nodded. A moment later, Jamie was leading.
"Yang, stay close," Jamie ordered. "I want you to walk through every step with me."
Cristina's eyes widened, but she kept it together. "Yes, Dr. Knight."
Jamie picked up the scalpel, steady as ever, and made a controlled incision in the pericardium, carefully opening the sac surrounding the heart.
He glanced at Cristina. "What do we need to assess before grafting?"
She answered immediately. "Extent of coronary blockage. We determine if the left internal mammary artery can be used for bypass."
"Good." Jamie worked methodically, exposing the heart and locating the blockage. "LAD is nearly fully occluded. If we don't move fast, this heart isn't going to hold out."
Cristina swallowed, watching every move.
Jamie nodded toward her. "You ready to harvest the LIMA?"
Cristina hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
Jamie handed her the Metz scissors.
"Alright. Walk me through the technique."
She steadied herself. "Carefully dissect the left internal mammary artery from the chest wall, preserving the endothelial integrity—"
Jamie gave a small smirk. "Textbook answer. But what's the biggest risk?"
She took a breath. "If I damage it, the graft fails."
Jamie nodded. "Then don't damage it."
Cristina's hands stayed steady as she carefully dissected the vessel. Jamie guided her only when needed, correcting her grip, adjusting the tension.
"Good," Jamie murmured as she freed the artery.
"Next step?"
"Anastomosis," Cristina said automatically. "Distal end of the LIMA to the LAD. 7-0 Prolene sutures."
"Correct. And?"
She thought fast. "Ensure no tension. Too tight, it kinks—too loose, it thromboses."
Jamie's lips twitched slightly. "Not bad, Yang."
She didn't acknowledge the compliment, too focused.
Jamie took the lead on the anastomosis, using precise technique as he sutured the LIMA graft to the LAD. Every movement was deliberate, controlled. Cristina watched like a hawk.
"Why do we need perfect alignment?" Jamie tested her again.
"To prevent turbulent blood flow and reduce the risk of intimal hyperplasia," she answered without missing a beat.
Jamie nodded, finishing the final stitch.
"Alright. We're unclamping. Keep an eye on perfusion."
The clamps were released.
A tense pause.
Then—blood surged through the graft, the heart struggling at first, then stabilizing into a strong rhythm.
The anesthesiologist glanced up. "BP holding. Heart rate normalizing."
Jamie exhaled. "Alright. Let's close."
He turned to Cristina. "You want to close?"
"Yes."
"What's our first step?"
"Wire sternal closure."
Jamie handed her the sternal wires. "Take your time."
Cristina worked carefully, tightening the sternal wires in place. Jamie watched her hands, correcting her positioning once but otherwise letting her handle it.
"Soft tissue closure next," she said as she finished.
Jamie nodded. "Good. Layered sutures, minimal tension."
They worked together in perfect rhythm, Jamie leading but Cristina assisting seamlessly.
Finally, the last suture was in.
Jamie stepped back, stripping off his gloves. "Good work, Yang."
She let out a breath. "Thanks."
Burke had been silent the entire time.
Jamie turned to him, his voice low enough for only him to hear.
"This was the last time."
Burke met his gaze. He didn't argue.
Jamie nodded once, then left the OR.
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Burke, Jamie, and Cristina stood outside the ICU, their scrubs still slightly damp from the long surgery. The weight of the last few hours hung over them, but the outcome—at least for now—was good.
Jennifer Morris and her mother sat anxiously in the waiting area. The moment Jennifer saw them approach, she shot to her feet.
Burke, as always, kept his voice measured. "The operation was successful. The next 24 to 48 hours are critical, but…"
Jamie took a step forward, his voice calm, filling in the gap. "Given how well he tolerated the procedure, we expect a full recovery."
Jennifer let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Cristina, standing just to Burke's right, nodded briskly. "We'll be monitoring him closely. He'll remain intubated for now to reduce cardiac strain. Once he's stable, we'll begin weaning him off the ventilator."
Burke gave a small nod, his usual way of signaling agreement. "We'll continue to monitor his cardiac function closely. If there are no complications, he'll be extubated within the next 24 hours."
Jennifer wiped at her eyes, still overwhelmed. "So… he's really going to be okay?"
"Yes," Burke assured her.
Jamie added, "He's strong. Now, it's just about keeping him stable and preventing any post-op complications."
Jennifer's mother, who had been silent until now, sniffled and squeezed her daughter's hand. "Thank you. Just… please, take care of him."
Burke: "We will."
Jamie nodded. "If you have any questions, the nurses will page us."
Jennifer gave them a grateful smile before stepping back into the ICU, following a nurse to her father's bedside.
As they turned to walk away, Cristina finally let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off the last few hours of tension.
The tension between Jamie and Burke was palpable. Cristina, sensing it, glanced between them but said nothing. She gave Burke a lingering look before muttering something about checking post-op labs and peeling off toward the nurses' station.
That left the two of them alone.
Jamie walked beside Burke in silence for a few steps before finally speaking, his voice quiet but firm. "You swore an oath, Burke."
Burke didn't stop walking, but Jamie saw the slight him stiffening. "We all did."
Jamie exhaled, shaking his head. "No. I mean you specifically. You swore to do no harm. And today, that oath almost meant nothing." He let the words settle before adding, "If I hadn't been in that OR—if I hadn't stepped in—you could have killed him."
Burke finally stopped, turning to face Jamie in the empty hallway. His expression was controlled, but Jamie could see the flicker of something underneath it. "But I didn't."
Jamie huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "That's not the point, and you damn well know it." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You hesitated, Burke. Just for a second. But in surgery, that's all it takes."
Burke said nothing.
Jamie sighed, running a hand over his face. "You're one of the best. Hell, I'd trust you with my own life if I knew your hands were steady. But they're not. And now, I'm part of this." His gaze sharpened. "So tell me. What's your plan? Keep gambling with patients' lives until you get caught?"
Burke's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm handling it."
Jamie shook his head. "You're not. You're barely holding it together. You think I didn't see you hesitate today? You think Cristina doesn't see it?" His tone hardened. "You think she deserves to be put in that position?"
Burke's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides.
Jamie leaned in slightly. "This was the last time, Burke." His voice was calm but absolute. "I won't cover for you again."
Burke exhaled sharply through his nose. "That's not your call to make."
Jamie held his gaze. "Then make the right one."
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, Burke gave a slight nod—whether it was in understanding or just resignation, Jamie wasn't sure. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
Jamie stood there for a moment, watching him go.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned in the opposite direction.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Jamie exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched Burke disappear down the hallway.
And this day started so well.
He had woken up feeling normal—something that rarely happened. No nightmares. No ghosts. Just a quiet morning, a fast car, and a run-in with an old soldier who actually reminded him why he did what he did.
Now?
Now he was covering for a surgeon who had no business being in the OR, tangled up in a mess that wasn't his, and watching a man he once respected unravel in front of him.
Jamie let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he turned away.
Seattle Grace.
It never let him breathe for too long.
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Izzie stood stiffly in front of Chief Webber's desk, arms crossed tightly, her fingers digging into her own skin as if she could ground herself with sheer force of will. The envelope containing the check still sat in her bag, heavy like a stone.
"I have eight million dollars." Her voice was flat. Almost lifeless.
Chief Webber didn't look up from the paperwork he had been sifting through, but the corners of his mouth twitched in acknowledgment. "So I've heard."
Izzie exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps before turning back to face him. "I can do anything I want."
Webber finally set his pen down and laced his fingers together, regarding her carefully. "Just about."
Izzie let out a breath, shaking her head. "And all I really want to do is a running whip stitch."
There it was.
Webber leaned back in his chair, eyes studying her. He had seen this before—young doctors, full of passion, drowning in grief, unsure of what to do with themselves. Some of them ran. Some of them crumbled. And some of them… came back fighting.
"My first year as an intern," Webber began, his voice steady, "I had a stable cardiac patient. Routine case. Transported him to CT myself." He exhaled through his nose, remembering. "He blew out his lung right there in front of me. Collapsed. I called a code, but by the time everyone got there, he was dead."
Izzie swallowed, shifting on her feet.
"If I'd put in a chest tube right away…" Webber shook his head slightly. "I made a mistake. A big one." His gaze was unwavering. "But I stayed. I worked. I learned. And I never made that mistake again."
Izzie stood frozen, the weight of Webber's words pressing down on her. The logical part of her brain—the part that had gone through four years of med school, survived hellish intern shifts, and once believed she was destined for this life—knew what he was saying made sense.
But then there was the other part of her. The part that had cut an LVAD wire, that had lost Denny, that had been paralyzed in grief for so long she wasn't sure she even remembered what it felt like to be a doctor.
"Izzie," Webber said quietly, his voice cutting through her thoughts, grounding her. "You have a choice. But once you make it, you don't get to waver."
She took a shaky breath. She could leave. Take the check, buy a plane ticket, disappear into a life that had nothing to do with medicine, nothing to do with grief.
Or she could stay.
She could fight her way back.
Her fingers curled into fists, and she forced herself to meet Webber's gaze.
"I want to come back." The words came out firm, more certain than she felt. But she didn't take them back.
Webber studied her for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Then you need to put in the work. No exceptions."
Izzie nodded, swallowing hard. "I will."
Webber didn't need to say anything else. The conversation was over. The decision was made.
As she turned and walked out of his office, Izzie felt the smallest shift inside her.
It wasn't relief. Not yet.
But it was something.
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Mark leaned against the nurse's station, watching as Addison walked past him without a glance.
"Hey," he called out.
Addison sighed before turning. "Hey."
Mark studied her for a second, then tilted his head. "So… who got the brownstone?"
Her expression barely flickered, but he caught it— the way her shoulders stiffened just a little.
"You heard?" she asked, voice guarded.
Mark smirked. "People talk around here. I listen." He crossed his arms. "So? Who got the brownstone?"
Addison exhaled, clearly unimpressed. "None of your business."
Mark shrugged, completely unfazed. "I left my bike in the basement. I just want to know who to talk to to get it back."
"Buy a new bike."
His smirk widened. "You know, this angry divorce thing really turns me on."
Addison gave him a deadpan stare. "I got the brownstone."
Mark nodded. "Figures."
She raised a brow. "And you'll get your bike back when you come to your senses and go home."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Derek took the Hamptons, huh?" He huffed a laugh. "Derek hates the Hamptons." His expression turned knowing. "He gave you the Hamptons too, didn't he?"
Addison didn't answer, but she didn't need to.
Mark's smirk faded, his voice dropping. "He still doesn't know the whole story, does he?"
Addison glanced away. "No."
Mark let out a breath and shook his head. "And as long as you don't tell him, you get to be the good guy while I'm just the chump who seduced his wife for the hell of it. Real fair, Addie."
She didn't say anything.
And Mark, for once, didn't push.
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Derek stood outside the hospital entrance, watching the city lights blink in the distance.
He wasn't sure how long Addison had been standing there before she spoke.
"Derek…"
He turned to her, offering a small, almost amused smile. "You know what I like?" He exhaled, looking back at the skyline. "I like that we can be civilized. We're these adult, grown-up people who can be civilized and friendly." He gave a dry chuckle. "We deserve a medal."
Addison didn't smile.
"It wasn't a one-night stand," she said quietly.
Derek frowned. "What?"
Addison swallowed, meeting his gaze. "Mark. He wasn't a one-night stand." Her voice was steady, but there was something vulnerable beneath it. "I was in love with him. Or at least I thought I was."
Derek's expression didn't change, but she saw the way his fingers curled slightly into his palm.
"After you left, we lived together for two months," Addison continued, her voice softer now. "I wanted to believe that we could make it work. I wanted to believe I hadn't thrown my marriage away, that I hadn't thrown my life away on a fling. But…" She exhaled, her lips pressing together. "He's Mark. And well… I caught him with someone else."
Derek didn't speak.
"And then Richard called," she finished, her voice small.
There was a heavy silence between them.
Finally, Addison straightened her shoulders. "We both had relationships with other people. We're both equally reliable," she said, almost like she was trying to convince herself. "So please. Take the brownstone."
Derek's jaw tightened. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm.
"All I want is Seattle," he said. "I want Seattle and never to see you again."
Addison's breath hitched, but she gave a small nod.
Derek walked away without another word.
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Meredith stood outside the hospital, hugging her arms against the cold air.
Derek was there. Of course he was.
He was always there.
"You're here," she said, exhaling sharply. "You're everywhere. And I can't not tell you."
Derek's brows furrowed slightly. "Tell me what?"
She let out a small, nervous laugh. "You know, I've been not telling you all day because I thought it was kind. I thought I was giving you space. But I can't not tell you, because you're here and you're you and…" She met his gaze, forcing herself to say it.
"I broke up with Finn."
Derek inhaled, watching her carefully. He didn't move. Didn't react.
Finally, he just said, "Okay."
Meredith blinked, waiting for something—anything. A response. A question.
But Derek just nodded, his face unreadable.
"Okay… then," Meredith echoed, her voice quieter now. "Okay. I told you."
"Yeah," Derek said simply.
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Jamie had just finished reviewing his last post-op note when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Derek.
He smirked slightly before answering. "Didn't we just drink last night?"
Derek exhaled. "You in the mood for another?"
Jamie leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out. "Not if it means drinking in that camper of yours."
There was a pause.
"Not Joe's," Derek said suddenly. His voice was tight, like he'd already thought this through. "There might be people from the hospital."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You trying to avoid someone in particular, or just hospital gossip in general?"
Derek sighed. "Both."
Jamie chuckled. "C'mon, Shepherd. I've got a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine my grandmother gave me. You can come drink like a civilized human being for once."
Derek let out a dry laugh. "You sure you want me drinking the good stuff?"
Jamie shrugged. "Better than letting it go to waste."
Derek didn't hesitate this time. "I'll be there in twenty."
Jamie ended the call, shaking his head.
This day had started so well.
Now?
Now, he had a feeling it wasn't over yet.
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Derek stepped into Jamie's penthouse and immediately slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the space with barely concealed surprise.
The place was stunning.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Seattle skyline, city lights twinkling against the dark sky. The furniture was sleek but comfortable, a mix of modern design and understated luxury. Warm lighting softened the sharp edges of steel and glass, making it feel lived-in rather than just another expensive high-rise.
Derek let out a low whistle. "So… this is where you live."
Jamie smirked, already making his way toward the kitchen. "What, expecting a shoebox?"
Derek shook his head, stepping further inside. "I knew you had money, but—" he turned in a slow circle, taking in the artwork on the walls, the perfectly curated bookshelves, the grand piano sitting near the windows. "—I didn't know you had this kind of money."
Jamie grabbed the wine bottle from the rack and reached for a corkscrew. "Does it matter?"
Derek huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "No. But damn, Knight. You've been slumming it with us common folk at Joe's, and all this time, you could've been drinking hundred-dollar wine in your penthouse?"
Jamie smirked as he pulled the cork out with ease. "First of all, it's a few hundred dollars, so get it right." He grabbed two glasses from the counter, pouring one for Derek before filling his own. "And second… Joe's has better company."
Derek took his glass, watching Jamie with mild amusement before his gaze drifted back to the piano.
"You play?"
Jamie followed his line of sight, then nodded. "Yeah."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Like… actual, real, classically trained play, or 'I know how to bang out a few chords at parties' play?"
Jamie simply set his glass down, walked over, and sat at the bench. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he started playing—not some simple, half-remembered melody, but something intricate, deliberate, something that filled the space with a deep, resonant sound.
Derek stilled.
Jamie wasn't just good. He was exceptional.
Derek took a slow sip of wine, listening as Jamie's hands moved effortlessly across the keys. It wasn't something flashy—it wasn't meant to impress—but it was beautiful. A melody full of precision, yet deeply personal, like muscle memory laced with something heavier.
When Jamie finally slowed, letting the last note linger, Derek exhaled. "Jesus, Knight. How the hell have you never mentioned this?"
Jamie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the piano. "Never came up."
Derek gave him a look. "Yeah, because it's totally normal for a guy who spent his twenties fixing people up in war zones to be able to play like a damn concert pianist."
Jamie smirked but didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a sip of his wine, his eyes drifting to the city skyline.
Then, quietly, he said, "It was my mom's thing."
Derek glanced at him, waiting. Jamie rarely talked about his past unless prompted, and even then, he kept it light. This was different.
Jamie traced a finger over the polished wood of the piano, his expression unreadable. "She was a surgeon. Fought like hell to become one. Came from old money—the kind where the women were supposed to marry well and sit on charity boards, not spend their nights in an OR."
Derek nodded, staying silent.
Jamie let out a breath. "Her parents fought her on it. Called it a phase. Threatened to cut her off. But she didn't care. She worked twice as hard, proved them wrong. Eventually, they came around—mostly because she was too damn stubborn to let them win."
He smirked slightly, but there was something softer beneath it. "The piano was one of the few things that wasn't a fight. One of the few things she let herself enjoy. And later, it was the thing we did together."
Derek tilted his head. "She taught you?"
Jamie nodded. "Yeah. Started when I was a kid. At first, I just wanted to do it because it was hers—something we shared when she wasn't at the hospital. But later… I just loved it."
Derek studied him for a long moment. "And after she passed?"
Jamie exhaled slowly, his fingers ghosting over the keys again. "Didn't touch it for a while."
Derek didn't push. He didn't need to. The weight of it was already there, settled in Jamie's voice, in the way he stared at the instrument like it carried memories too heavy to name.
Jamie finally shook his head, sitting back. "Anyway. It's just a hobby."
Derek let out a dry chuckle. "That's not just a hobby. That's talent."
Jamie smirked, lifting his glass. "Good at fixing people. Good at music. I'm very well-rounded."
Derek snorted but clinked his glass against Jamie's anyway.
A comfortable silence settled between them before Derek leaned back, exhaling.
"I saw Addison today."
Jamie arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. He just waited.
Derek turned the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "She told me the truth. About him."
Jamie's smirk faded. "Sloan?"
Derek nodded. "She wasn't just sleeping with him. She—" He hesitated, then sighed. "She thought she loved him. They lived together after I left."
Jamie didn't look surprised, but he stayed quiet, letting Derek process at his own pace.
Derek let out a bitter chuckle. "I was the bad guy. The husband who walked away. The one who left her behind. And all this time, she made it seem like it was just a mistake, like Mark was a lapse in judgment, some momentary betrayal." He exhaled sharply. "But he wasn't. He was plan B. A backup for when I wasn't coming back."
Jamie swirled the wine in his glass, watching Derek carefully. "So what now?"
Derek let out a breath. "Now? Now I stop pretending like it matters." He took another sip. "I don't want the past. I just want—" He stopped himself, shaking his head.
Jamie smirked slightly. "You just want?"
Derek gave him a look but didn't answer.
Jamie leaned back against the piano, taking a sip of his wine. "So… Meredith broke up with Finn."
Derek, who had been absently turning his glass between his fingers, stilled. His grip tightened just slightly. "Yeah."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Derek exhaled slowly. "And nothing."
Jamie smirked. "Nothing? She told you, didn't she?"
Derek gave him a look but didn't answer.
Jamie let out a quiet chuckle. "Right. And that's why you're here, drinking expensive wine with me instead of at Joe's, where you might run into her."
Derek rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Screw you, Knight."
Jamie grinned, raising his glass. "Cheers to that."
Jamie just chuckled, taking another sip of his wine.
Derek shook his head but didn't argue. He just leaned back against the couch, staring at the city lights beyond the window, letting the weight of everything settle.
For now, this was enough.
The conversation. The wine. The quiet.
And maybe, for tonight, that was all they needed.