Author's Thoughts:
This is my first time writing, and so far, the reactions have been great. I really appreciate the support and feedback from everyone—it definitely keeps me motivated!
As for the story itself, a love interest is being introduced, but nothing is set in stone yet. I'm letting things develop naturally, and we'll see where it goes. Feedback is always welcome, so feel free to share your thoughts!
I'm also trying to keep the chapters at a good length and updates as regular as possible. Hope you enjoy this one!
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Jamie stirred as the car slowed, the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road shifting as they approached the manor gates. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the late afternoon light filtering through the window. He shifted slightly, rolling out the tension from his shoulders before glancing toward the driver.
"How much longer?" His voice was still rough with sleep.
The driver met his gaze briefly through the rearview mirror. "We're almost there, sir. Just a few minutes."
Jamie hummed in acknowledgment, leaning back against the leather seat. Outside, the world moved at its usual pace—pedestrians walking down the sidewalk, people heading home from work, the occasional jogger weaving through traffic. The city pulsed with life, indifferent to his presence.
His fingers tapped idly against his knee as he exhaled, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. He wasn't sure why, but something about returning to the manor after everything—after the hospital, after Toby, after his conversation with Vargas—felt... heavier than usual.
The gates of Knight Manor came into view, the black iron swinging open as they approached. The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance, and before Jamie could reach for the handle, the door swung open.
James, ever the perfect butler, stood there waiting.
"Master James," he greeted with a small nod, his face unreadable as always.
Jamie smirked, stepping out of the car. "James." He stretched his arms above his head, trying to shake off the stiffness from the long drive. "You and Nana manage to survive without me?"
James clasped his hands behind his back. "Your grandmother has been rather busy entertaining, sir."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Entertaining?"
James' lips twitched slightly. "Afternoon tea. A few of her longtime friends stopped by."
Jamie groaned, running a hand down his face. "Oh, fantastic."
James gave him a sympathetic nod. "Indeed."
Jamie exhaled. "How's she been?"
"Quite well. And yourself, sir?"
Jamie glanced at him, recognizing the deeper question hidden beneath the polite phrasing. He had known James his entire life—the man didn't ask lightly.
"I'm getting there," Jamie admitted.
James nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Shall I have something prepared for you?"
Jamie shook his head. "I'll figure it out. Let me go in and say hi before they start sending out a search party."
James smirked slightly. "Good luck, sir."
Jamie shot him a dry look before stepping inside.
The warmth of the manor wrapped around him the moment he entered. The faint scent of lavender and old books filled the air—home.
And laughter. Loud, lively, unmistakable laughter.
Jamie barely had time to take off his jacket before he was spotted.
"Jamie, dear!"
His grandmother's voice rang from the sitting room, followed by the delighted chorus of at least half a dozen older women.
Jamie sighed.
He stepped forward, walking into the grand sitting room where the ladies of the manor were gathered, their tea cups in delicate hands, their sharp eyes full of mischief.
The moment he crossed the threshold, they pounced.
"Jamie, darling! Look at you!"
"Have you been eating properly? You look thinner!"
"I heard you were camping! What in the world possessed you to do something so rugged?"
"And tell us, dear, is there a woman in your life? A special someone?"
Jamie barely had time to register all the questions before hands were reaching for him—fixing his collar, patting his cheek, ruffling his hair like he was still ten years old.
His grandmother sat among them, sipping her tea with an all-too-amused expression.
"Jamie, you remember Eleanor, Beatrice, Margaret, and—"
"Yes, Nana," Jamie cut in, dodging another affectionate hair ruffle from one of the ladies. "I remember them all."
The women beamed at him.
"Oh, he's just as charming as ever," Eleanor said, smiling fondly.
"And just as evasive," Margaret added with a knowing look. "You didn't answer the question, Jamie dear. Any romance in your life?"
Jamie forced a polite smile. "Would you believe me if I said I was married to my work?"
A chorus of disapproving noises followed.
"That's a shame."
"A man like you shouldn't be alone."
"Your mother would have wanted you to settle down, dear."
Jamie sighed, sending a desperate look to his grandmother, but she simply smirked behind her teacup, clearly enjoying his suffering.
He needed an escape. Fast.
Jamie forced a polite smile. "As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I actually have something urgent to take care of."
His grandmother arched an eyebrow. "Really? How convenient."
Jamie gave her an innocent look. "What can I say? Timing is everything."
Beatrice pouted. "Just a few more minutes, dear."
"Rain check," Jamie promised, already stepping toward the door. "Ladies, always a pleasure."
Before they could stop him, he slipped out of the room, making his way toward the stairs.
He could still hear their chatter behind him.
"Such a handsome boy. But he needs a shave. Camping. What was he thinking."
"Wasted on work."
"I swear, if he doesn't settle down soon, I'll introduce him to my granddaughter."
Jamie groaned.
As he reached the upper floor, he muttered under his breath.
"Maybe I should've stayed at the hospital."
Jamie climbed the stairs two at a time, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way toward his room. The lingering warmth of the late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows along the polished wooden floor.
The moment he stepped into his bedroom, his eyes landed on the box.
The same box he had gone through before the camping trip.
It sat exactly where he had left it, undisturbed. But now, after everything—after the trip, after Burke, after the crash, after Toby—he felt compelled to go through it again.
With a quiet sigh, he crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling the box toward him.
Lifting the lid, he reached inside, fingers brushing over each item like they held a weight far greater than their physical presence.
The necklace.
He picked it up carefully, letting it dangle between his fingers. The old silver chain glinted in the fading sunlight, the locket still closed. He thumbed it open, revealing the small photograph inside—his mother holding him as a baby, his father's arms wrapped around them both.
Jamie exhaled, his grip tightening slightly before he set it aside.
Next, he pulled out his father's watch. The weight of it in his palm was familiar, comforting in a way he hadn't expected.
The books came next.
His mother's personal medical journals. The first edition Gray's Anatomy.
His fingers traced the worn edges, the notes scribbled in her delicate handwriting. He swallowed hard, setting them down before moving on.
And then—
The Beretta.
Jamie picked up the pistol, turning it over in his hands. The weight was familiar. Too familiar. His father's service weapon, the same model Jamie had carried in the Army. It was in pristine condition, well-maintained despite years of being locked away.
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Looks like I have to get it registered," he muttered to himself.
After a moment, he set the gun back into the box, closing the lid with finality.
Enough reminiscing.
Jamie pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders before heading toward the bathroom.
The mirror reflected back a version of himself he barely recognized. The past few days had taken their toll. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his hair slightly disheveled, dark circles lingering beneath his eyes.
The camping. The hospital detour.
None of it had left much room for personal upkeep.
He exhaled, turning on the sink.
Grabbing his razor, he went through the familiar motions—lather, shave, rinse. The warm water felt grounding, the rhythmic scrape of the blade against his skin almost meditative.
Once finished, he stepped into the shower, letting the near-scalding water wash over him.
The heat seeped into his muscles, easing away the exhaustion he hadn't realized he was carrying.
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Jamie stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as he wrapped a towel around his waist. The heat had loosened the tension in his muscles, but his mind was still running, sorting through everything that had happened over the past few days.
As he made his way into his walk-in closet, he exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair.
The space was exactly as he had left it—rows of impeccably tailored suits, crisp dress shirts organized by color, shelves lined with carefully polished shoes. A lifetime of discipline and expectation reflected in the arrangement.
Growing up, he had been taught that presentation mattered. That appearance was a reflection of control, of capability. Somewhere along the way, he had let that part of himself slip.
He pulled a navy-blue suit off the rack, sharp and understated. A white dress shirt followed, along with a deep charcoal tie.
Dressing was methodical—each movement precise, ingrained from years of practice.
He buttoned the shirt, securing the cuffs before knotting the tie with practiced ease. The suit jacket settled perfectly over his shoulders, its tailored fit a second skin.
Moving to his dresser, he opened the velvet-lined drawer where his watches were stored.
Patek Philippe. Simple. Timeless.
Sliding it onto his wrist, he adjusted the strap before heading to the last step—shoes.
He pulled a pair of polished leather oxfords from the shelf, slipping them on and fastening the laces.
Finally, he stood straight, adjusting his cuffs one last time before stepping back toward the mirror.
The man looking back at him was different than the one who had woken up that morning.
Jamie exhaled.
This was who he was—who he had always been, underneath the exhaustion, the chaos, the weight of the past.
Look the part, and maybe the mind will follow.
He turned on his heel and walked out.
Descending the grand staircase, he found the house still filled with the sound of laughter—his grandmother's guests still holding court in the sitting room.
Bracing himself, he straightened his tie and stepped forward.
Jamie descended the grand staircase with practiced ease, carefully maneuvering past the sitting room where his grandmother and her guests were still engaged in lively conversation. Their laughter echoed through the manor, the kind of laughter that only came from years of friendship and an unshakable confidence in their place in the world.
He wasn't about to get caught up in it.
Keeping to the periphery, Jamie moved toward the study, where he spotted James sitting in a leather chair, reading a well-worn hardcover.
James barely glanced up as Jamie approached, only turning the page with quiet precision. "Master James."
Jamie smirked. "James."
Setting his book down, the butler adjusted his glasses and regarded Jamie with his usual calm. "To what do I owe the honor?"
Jamie leaned against the doorway, his fingers casually adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket. "My car keys."
James arched a brow. "Which ones?"
Jamie hesitated, considering. The Aston was his—sleek, fast, and effortlessly refined. His father's car, though…
That was different.
His fingers twitched at the thought of taking the Chevelle out, of hearing the deep rumble of its engine on the open road. But no.
His father's car was for something else. Something more than just a drive.
Jamie exhaled and met James's knowing gaze.
"The Aston," he said finally. "Dad's car is for special moments."
James nodded approvingly, standing with a quiet grace before retrieving the keys from a polished wooden case on the desk. He placed them in Jamie's hand with an unreadable expression.
"Enjoy your drive, sir."
Jamie gave a small nod before turning toward the door, twirling the keys in his fingers as he stepped outside.
The cool afternoon air greeted him as he walked toward the garage, the weight of the last few days still lingering.
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Jamie raised an eyebrow when his phone lit up with Mason's name. He wasn't expecting a call—not from him, not now. He pressed the button on his steering wheel, answering through the car's speaker.
"Mason."
"Jamie," Mason greeted, his voice as casual as ever. "Thought you'd gone off the grid."
Jamie smirked slightly, keeping his eyes on the road. "Not quite."
"Well, figured I'd give you an update," Mason continued. "Cartel's handled. Hernandez is on his way to a CIA black site. Looks like Bauer delivered."
Jamie's grip on the wheel tightened slightly. Bauer. Of course, he did. The man was an enigma, but he got results.
"And Ryan?" Jamie asked, his voice steady.
"Back at work," Mason confirmed. "Still has to take it easy, but you know him."
Jamie exhaled. "Yeah. He doesn't know how to take it easy."
Mason chuckled. "That's an understatement."
There was a beat of silence before Mason added, "I'm off the grid for the next few weeks. Just thought I'd let you know."
Jamie didn't reply immediately. He knew what Mason did, knew what "off the grid" really meant.
Finally, he said, "Be careful."
Mason let out a small, amused huff. "It's the usual. Just wanted to keep you in the loop."
Jamie nodded, even though Mason couldn't see it. "Still. Be careful."
"Always."
The call ended just as Jamie pulled into the underground parking garage of his penthouse building. The Aston Martin's engine purred as he maneuvered into his designated spot, the sound echoing against the concrete walls.
He shut off the car, pulled the keys from the ignition, and stepped out. The air was slightly colder down here, carrying the faint scent of oil and gasoline. He made his way toward the elevator, pressing the button as he rolled his shoulders.
This idiot. Always worrying people.
Jamie muttered it under his breath as he stepped into the elevator, watching as the numbers climbed. The soft hum of the machinery was the only sound in the enclosed space.
Ding.
The doors slid open, and Jamie stepped into the hallway.
Reaching his penthouse door, he pulled out his key, slid it into the lock, and pushed the door open.
And there, sitting comfortably on his couch, was Jack Bauer.
Jamie didn't even blink.
He didn't ask what the hell Bauer was doing in his home. Didn't demand an explanation. Didn't reach for a weapon.
Instead, he walked straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and twisted the cap off.
Then, without looking up, he asked, "What do you want to drink?"
Jack Bauer's eyes followed Jamie as he moved around the kitchen, watching with the same sharp intensity he always carried. The man had the presence of someone who had seen too much, done too much, and lived too long in a world where trust was a luxury.
"It's a damn shame you became a surgeon," Bauer finally said, leaning back into the couch. "With your instincts, your reflexes—you could have made a real difference."
Jamie finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. "I am making a difference."
Bauer tilted his head slightly, as if weighing Jamie's words, then exhaled. He didn't argue. Instead, he let out a small, dry chuckle.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What do you want to drink?"
Bauer smirked. "Beer."
Jamie rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he grabbed a bottle from the fridge and tossed it to him. "Of course, you want a beer."
Bauer caught it effortlessly, twisting off the cap with practiced ease. He took a sip, letting the silence stretch for a moment before he got to the point.
"Hernandez is out of the picture," he said, resting the bottle on his knee. "CIA took him off the board. He's at one of their black sites now, and he's going to stay there."
Jamie nodded, unfazed. "And the rest of them?"
Bauer's jaw tightened slightly. "The CIA is still working on rooting out the corruption in the military. A lot of bad actors still in the system, but they're making progress."
Jamie leaned against the counter, waiting.
Bauer studied him for a second before continuing. "They could use someone like you."
Jamie didn't blink. "Not interested."
Bauer scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. "You didn't even think about it."
"I don't need to think about it," Jamie replied, his voice calm but firm. "I lived in the shadows long enough. It's time to live in the sun."
Bauer held his gaze for a long moment before nodding slightly. There was no argument, no counteroffer—just an understanding between men who had both walked through the same darkness.
Wordlessly, Bauer reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black phone, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of Jamie.
Jamie frowned, glancing at it before looking back at Bauer. "What's this?"
"If you ever need something," Bauer said, his voice quieter now, "give me a call."
Jamie didn't touch the phone.
Bauer stood up, finishing the rest of his beer in one long pull before setting the empty bottle down on the table. "Thanks for the drink."
Jamie watched as the older man walked toward the door, but just as Bauer reached it, he paused.
Turning slightly, he looked back at Jamie, his expression unreadable. "Your security clearance is still active."
Jamie's fingers tightened slightly around his water bottle.
Bauer gave him a nod. "I hope you can really stay in the sun, Jamie." He hesitated for just a second before adding, "For some of us… it's too late."
With that, he opened the door and left.
Jamie exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head.
"Same Bauer. Same damn speeches."
He took a sip of his water, sitting in the quiet of his penthouse for a few moments, letting the tension settle.
Then his eyes drifted.
To the piano.
To the instrument his mother had loved so much.
Jamie stared at it, his mind wandering to the finished sheet music she had written—the one he had left at Knight Manor.
But he didn't need it.
He had memorized every single note.
Jamie exhaled, shaking his head slightly before muttering under his breath, "Eidetic memory sure is convenient sometimes."
He set his water bottle down and slowly made his way to the piano.
And then, without hesitation, he began to play.
Jamie's fingers moved across the piano keys, each note flowing into the next as he lost himself in the melody. The music wrapped around him, pulling him into that familiar place of calm—where the noise in his head quieted, where the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future faded into the background.
He played as if his hands moved on instinct, his mother's composition still imprinted in his mind. The piece reached its final notes, filling the penthouse with a lingering sense of something almost sacred.
Then, silence.
Jamie exhaled, glancing toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the horizon. The sun was setting.
His stomach grumbled.
Jamie sighed, standing up and rolling his shoulders. Apparently, playing piano didn't count as dinner. He made his way toward the kitchen, opening the fridge, only to realize—
Empty.
Jamie closed the fridge with a sigh, already pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts before tapping Derek Shepherd. The call rang twice before Derek answered, the sound of trickling water in the background.
"Yeah?" Derek sounded relaxed. Too relaxed.
Then Jamie heard it—Meredith's soft laughter in the background.
Jamie smirked. Oh.
"Where are you?" Jamie asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Derek sighed. "At Meredith's."
Jamie didn't need to hear more. He already knew exactly what that meant. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
"Use protection," Jamie deadpanned, already pulling the phone away from his ear.
"Wait—what?" Derek started, but Jamie had already hung up.
Jamie muttered to himself as he set the phone down. "Always going at it, those two."
He shook his head and smirked slightly before glancing at the fridge one more time. Right. No food.
Grabbing his keys, Jamie made his way toward the door.
Looked like he was going out for dinner.
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Jamie drove aimlessly through the city, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift as he took in the streets of Seattle at night. It had been almost seven years since he had last been here, and even though he had been back for nearly two months, he hadn't explored much beyond the hospital and the manor.
Seattle had changed.
Or maybe he had.
His stomach grumbled again, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten. He passed a few upscale restaurants—places he was sure would have been an easy choice for a Knight—but none of them felt right.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small taco stand, nestled next to a park with outdoor tables strung with dim fairy lights. The sight of it pulled something from the back of his memory—a time before the war, before medicine had consumed him.
Jamie pulled into a parking spot across the street, killing the engine before stepping out. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of warm spices and grilled meat. As he crossed toward the stand, he noticed someone already standing at the counter, placing an order.
A young woman.
She had an energy about her—not just confidence, but a quiet sort of sharpness, like she was always taking in the world around her. Chestnut-brown hair fell in soft waves down her back, and her dark green eyes—almost black under the dim lights—stood out against the glow of the food stall. She wasn't overdressed, just a leather jacket over a sweater and jeans, sneakers worn in just enough to hint that she liked to move.
Jamie wasn't one to get distracted easily.
Yet, here he was.
Carlos wiped his hands on a rag before looking up at the next customer. "What do you want, Señor?" The voice was thick with a Mexican accent, but it was the familiarity in his tone that made Jamie pause.
Jamie blinked, his gaze shifting from the menu to the man behind the counter. The salt-and-pepper hair, the deep-set eyes, the face that hadn't changed much—just aged with time.
A memory flickered. His parents bringing him to a small, family-run restaurant. The smell of carne asada slow-cooking, his mother's laughter over his father stealing food off her plate.
Jamie tilted his head slightly.
"Carlos?"
Carlos furrowed his brows, then squinted—studying Jamie properly this time. A beat passed.
His eyes widened.
"¡Dios mío! No puede ser…" (My God, it can't be…)
Jamie smirked slightly. "En carne y hueso." (In the flesh.)
Carlos let out a deep, hearty laugh, shaking his head. "¡James Knight! Look at you!"
Jamie chuckled. "Been a long time."
Carlos shook his head in disbelief. "A hell of a long time. Last I saw you, you were a scrawny kid sneaking extra tortillas off your mamá's plate."
Then, his expression softened. "Your mamá used to bring you to my place all the time… Dios, how she talked about you."
Jamie's smile flickered, just for a second. "I remember."
Carlos exhaled, glancing around the stand. "Had to sell the restaurant after my surgery. Bills piled up fast. This?" He gestured toward the food stall. "It's smaller, but I'm still cooking. Still doing what I love."
Jamie frowned, but before he could respond, a voice cut in.
"Um, excuse me?"
The woman beside him spoke up, polite but amused. "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm kind of starving."
Jamie turned fully toward her. Dark green eyes. Sharp. Amused. Like she found the situation entertaining.
For a moment, he just looked at her.
Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured toward the counter. "By all means."
She gave him a small, knowing smile before stepping forward to accept her food. As she reached into her purse for her wallet, Carlos turned back to Jamie.
"So? You eating or just here to admire the view?"
Jamie huffed a quiet laugh. "Lo mismo que ella."
Carlos snorted. "You don't even know what she ordered."
Before Jamie could respond, the woman turned slightly, raising an eyebrow.
"Exactly. What if I have terrible taste?"
Jamie gave a small smirk. "I doubt it." He nodded toward Carlos. "And I know for a fact he doesn't make bad food."
Carlos let out a low chuckle. "Still smooth with the words, huh? Just like your mamá. She always knew what to say."
Jamie smiled faintly but didn't comment. Instead, he glanced at the woman beside him, who was watching the exchange with mild curiosity.
"So… you just blindly trust strangers with your dinner choices?" she asked.
Jamie smirked. "When they seem like they know what they're doing."
Carlos finished assembling the plates, handing Jamie his order.
Jamie took out his wallet and paid. Carlos hesitated for half a second, but then took the money, slipping the bills into the register with a thoughtful nod.
"Good seeing you, kid."
Jamie nodded. "Likewise."
He turned back to the woman, who was still watching him—not quite suspicious, but definitely curious.
Jamie tilted his head. "So, are you going to tell me your name, or am I just going to have to call you 'mystery woman who decides my meals' forever?"
She let out a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Lexie."
Jamie let the name settle for a moment before nodding. "Jamie."
Lexie just nodded in acknowledgment. No flicker of recognition. No moment of realization.
She had no idea who he was.
Somehow, that was refreshing.
Lexie glanced toward the park tables, then back at him.
"Well, Jamie, since you're putting your faith in my food choices, you might as well sit with me."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "That an invitation?"
Lexie smirked. "It's whatever you want it to be."
Jamie chuckled, shaking his head.
Jamie smirked, shifting the tray in his hands. "After you."
Lexie tilted her head slightly, as if assessing him, before flashing a small smile. "Alright, mysterious taco-ordering stranger. Let's see if your blind trust was a mistake."
She turned, heading toward one of the outdoor tables, and Jamie followed. The soft glow of fairy lights strung through the park cast a warm ambiance over the space, but the night air was still crisp. He barely noticed until he sat down across from Lexie and a sharp breeze cut through his coat.
Jamie exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders.
Lexie smirked, taking a bite of her taco. "Cold?"
Jamie tugged his jacket tighter. "Didn't think it'd be this bad."
Lexie huffed a small laugh. "It's not. You're just not used to it."
Jamie shook his head, letting the warmth of the spices settle in. "Haven't had a real winter in a while."
Lexie swallowed, tilting her head. "What, do you migrate south like a bird?"
Jamie smirked. "Something like that."
Lexie took another bite before nodding toward him. "So, are you visiting?"
Jamie paused for a second before replying. "No. I live here now."
Lexie raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't before."
Jamie shook his head. "Grew up in New York. Spent my summers in Seattle, though."
Lexie tilted her head. "New York has pretty cold winters."
Jamie exhaled, shifting slightly. "Yeah, it does." A pause. "But I haven't been back in years."
Something in his tone made it clear he didn't want to elaborate, but Lexie didn't press.
Jamie turned the conversation toward her. "What about you? Are you from here?"
Lexie nodded. "Yeah. Born and raised in Seattle. But I live in Boston now. For school."
Jamie raised an eyebrow, curious. "What are you studying?"
"Med school," Lexie answered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Jamie smirked knowingly. "Harvard?"
Lexie huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I should be prepping for graduation, actually, but my mom insisted I come visit my sister. She's pregnant."
Jamie nodded, leaning back slightly. "Harvard Med School… I went there, too. Feels like forever ago."
Lexie gave him a curious look. "How long?"
Jamie did the math in his head. "Must be ten years now."
Lexie's eyes narrowed slightly as she sized him up. "Ten years out of med school?" She studied his face. "You don't look that old."
Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. "I get that a lot."
Lexie smirked. "I bet you do."
Jamie took another bite of his taco, chewing thoughtfully before explaining, "I fast-tracked. Finished high school early. Having an eidetic memory helps."
Lexie nearly choked on her food. "No way."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Lexie was grinning now. "I have an eidetic memory too."
Jamie gave her a skeptical look. "Really?"
Lexie smirked, setting down her food. "Test me."
Jamie leaned forward, thinking for a moment. Then, a memory surfaced, one of his old professors from Harvard Med.
"Alright," he said, resting his forearms on the table. "Dr. Porter. First lecture of the year. What's the question he writes on the board?"
Lexie rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. That's too easy." She didn't even hesitate. "Describe the physiological adaptations of chronic heart failure and the compensatory mechanisms involved."
Jamie blinked, surprised. "Still hasn't changed that in twenty years."
Lexie smirked. "Told you."
She tapped a finger against the table. "Your turn."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You're quizzing me now?"
Lexie grinned. "Page 132 of Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine, 15th edition. What's on it?"
Jamie didn't even have to think. "Cardiomyopathy classifications. Hypertrophic, dilated, restrictive. There's a diagram on the right side."
Lexie exhaled, shaking her head. "Okay, that's freaky."
Jamie chuckled. "Right back at you."
They shared a brief, amused silence, the mutual understanding of what it meant to have a mind like theirs settling between them. Then Lexie's expression shifted—curious, but quieter now.
"How do you deal with it?" she asked.
Jamie leaned back slightly. "With what?"
Lexie hesitated, then gestured vaguely. "All of it. The memory. I mean, it's helpful, obviously, but…" She trailed off, looking down at her food. "Sometimes it's… overwhelming."
Jamie studied her, recognizing the insecurity behind her words. He had known that feeling—the weight of never forgetting, of carrying every mistake, every loss, every moment like a permanent imprint in his mind.
He exhaled slowly. "It has its ups and downs," he admitted. "It's a gift, but to never forget…" He shook his head slightly. "It can be a curse too."
Lexie nodded, looking down at her plate. "Yeah," she murmured.
Jamie was silent for a moment before he shook off the heaviness. "So," he said, shifting the conversation, "now that you're almost done with med school, what's next?"
Lexie brightened a little at the change in subject. "Surgery," she said without hesitation.
Jamie smirked. "Good choice."
Lexie grinned. "I thought so." Then she sighed. "Still waiting on a response from Mass Gen for my internship."
Jamie nodded. "It's a solid program."
Lexie huffed a breath. "I know. I'm just trying not to obsess over it."
Jamie tilted his head slightly. "You'll get in."
Lexie gave him a skeptical look. "You say that like you know."
Jamie smirked. "I know the type."
Lexie rolled her eyes. "Right, because you know me so well."
Jamie just shrugged. "You're here, aren't you? Med school, surgery track, top-tier hospital. You wouldn't be sitting here worried about an internship if you weren't damn good at what you do."
Lexie studied him for a second before shaking her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"You're annoyingly confident, you know that?"
Jamie chuckled. "I've been told."
Lexie exhaled, sitting back. "Alright then, oh-wise-one, since you clearly have all the answers—what do you do?"
Jamie smirked. "Surgery."
Lexie shook her head. "Alright, fine. Advice, then. Intern year—how do I survive it?"
Jamie leaned forward slightly. "You want the sugar-coated version or the truth?"
Lexie smirked. "I think I can handle the truth."
Jamie nodded. "Alright. It's brutal. The hours suck, you'll be exhausted all the time, and you're going to question whether you're good enough at least once a week."
Lexie hummed. "Sounds about right."
Jamie smirked. "And… it's worth it. If you love it, if you can't imagine doing anything else—it's worth every second."
Lexie let out a breath, nodding slowly. "That's what I keep telling myself."
Jamie studied her for a moment before nodding. "You'll be fine."
Lexie scoffed lightly. "You say that like you know me."
Jamie smirked. "Like I said—I know the type."
Lexie rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in them.
Jamie leaned back, finishing off the last bite of his food.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't thinking about work, responsibility, or the weight of his past.
He was just… enjoying the moment.
And somehow, that felt right.
As Lexie checked the time, she let out a small sigh. "I should probably head back before my mom calls me again."
Jamie smirked. "That bad?"
Lexie rolled her eyes. "She means well, but ever since I got here, it's been 'Lexie, where are you? Lexie, have you eaten? Lexie, are you getting enough rest?' I love her, I do, but I needed some air."
Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. "My luck then."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You consider this lucky?"
He shrugged, smirking. "I could've eaten alone."
Lexie grinned. "Fair enough."
He glanced toward the street. "You live far?"
"Just a few streets down," she said.
Jamie nodded. "I'll walk you."
Lexie tilted her head. "Chivalry isn't dead after all."
"Just figured it's getting late," Jamie replied simply, pushing off the table as they started walking.
The night air had turned cooler, the distant hum of the city filling the quiet spaces between their steps. Streetlights flickered on, casting a soft golden glow along the sidewalk. Lexie let out a small sigh as they walked, her arms crossed against the chill.
"Hopefully, my mom's calmed down by now. She's been hovering since I got here."
Jamie smirked. "Mothers. It's their job."
Lexie nudged him playfully. "What about yours? Is she like that too?"
Jamie's smile faded just slightly. His steps slowed for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to keep pace. Lexie noticed the shift immediately and regretted the question almost as soon as she asked it.
"I—I didn't mean to—"
Jamie shook his head, offering a small, reassuring smile. "She was great." He exhaled, glancing ahead as if grounding himself in the movement. "And yeah, I think all moms have a way of being… annoying. But if she were still here, I wouldn't change a thing."
Lexie swallowed, her voice softer now. "I'm sorry."
Jamie nodded, appreciating the sentiment but not wanting to linger in it. They walked in silence for a few moments, the air between them a little heavier. Then, determined to lighten the mood, Lexie perked up.
"So, tell me—do you remember Professor Holloway?"
Jamie glanced at her, his brows raising slightly. "The one with the terrible handwriting?"
Lexie let out a laugh. "Yes! I swear, I almost failed a whole unit just trying to decode his notes."
Jamie chuckled. "Sounds about right. Let me guess—he still insists on that same impossible exam question every year?"
Lexie groaned. "Yes! It's like a rite of passage."
Jamie smirked. "You know, my college life was… interesting."
Lexie shot him a teasing look. "Oh? Please tell me you have embarrassing stories."
Jamie shook his head, amused. "Let's just say, I once showed up completely drunk to an exam. Didn't mean to—I had a bet going with my roommate the night before and lost track of time."
Lexie gasped, looking at him incredulously. "You're joking."
"Nope." Jamie grinned. "Woke up late, still half out of it, walked in, took the exam. Aced it."
She stared at him. "No way."
Jamie shrugged. "Professor even praised me for 'paying attention during lectures.' If only he knew."
Lexie burst out laughing. "That's ridiculous. I can't even imagine being that confident in a test."
Jamie smirked. "It wasn't confidence. Just good memory."
Lexie shook her head, still laughing. "You're something else, Jamie Knight."
Jamie glanced at her, something about the way she said his name settling in his chest. He held her gaze for a moment before she caught him looking.
"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jamie just smirked. "Nothing."
Lexie rolled her eyes. "Right."
Then, after a beat, she tilted her head, looking at him with renewed curiosity. "So, you're a surgeon. What kind?"
Jamie leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs. "Triple board-certified—general, trauma, and cardiothoracic."
Lexie blinked. "Triple?"
Jamie smirked. "Overachiever, remember?"
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "That's insane. You must've never slept."
"Not much, no." Jamie took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Did my residency at New York Presbyterian, then my cardiothoracic fellowship there too."
Lexie's eyebrows lifted slightly. "So you've been in the trenches."
Jamie chuckled. "You could say that."
She tilted her head. "Alright, tell me—what was your first day as a resident like? Was it as brutal as everyone says?"
Jamie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, brutal doesn't even begin to cover it." He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Picture this—first day, fresh out of med school, walking into one of the busiest ERs in the country. I'm thinking maybe I'll get to do some sutures, maybe assist on an appy if I'm lucky."
Lexie smirked. "Let me guess. It didn't go like that."
Jamie gave her a dry look. "Nope."
He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling at the memory. "They bring in this guy—a car accident victim. Impaled through the abdomen with a metal bar. Massive internal bleeding. And instead of standing in the back like a good little intern, I end up elbows-deep in the guy's abdomen, literally holding his aorta together so he doesn't bleed out on the gurney."
Lexie's eyes widened. "You're kidding."
"Dead serious." Jamie grinned. "Then the neuro resident walks into the ER, expecting to consult on a possible spinal injury, and instead, he finds me—first-day resident, covered in blood, giving orders like I actually know what I'm doing."
Lexie covered her mouth, laughing. "Oh my god. What did he do?"
Jamie smirked. "He looked at me like I was insane and asked what the hell I was doing."
Lexie grinned. "And?"
"I told him, 'compressing the aorta—what does it look like?'"
Lexie burst out laughing. "No, you didn't."
Jamie nodded, completely serious. "I did. I was too busy keeping the guy alive to filter myself."
Lexie shook her head, still grinning. "And they just… let you keep doing it?"
"The attending trauma surgeon showed up and basically told me, 'Good job, now stay out of the way unless I tell you otherwise.'" Jamie leaned back, chuckling. "That was my welcome to residency."
Lexie exhaled, shaking her head. "That's insane."
Jamie smirked. "Welcome to surgery."
She let out a small huff, looking down at her drink before glancing back at him. "Okay, so… any advice?"
Jamie raised a brow. "For what?"
She hesitated for a second before sighing. "For internships. I'm still waiting to hear back from Mass Gen, and I keep running through all the what-ifs in my head. What if I don't get in? What if I end up somewhere that isn't the right fit?"
Jamie studied her for a moment before shrugging. "You're going to end up where you're supposed to be. You might not believe that now, but trust me, in a few years, you'll look back and see it."
Lexie bit her lip. "And if I screw it up?"
Jamie shook his head. "Then you learn from it and move forward. No one gets through this without messing up. Not even the best."
Lexie exhaled, leaning back slightly. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," Jamie admitted. "But if you spend all your time worrying about things you can't control, you're gonna miss the things you can."
Lexie was quiet for a moment before nodding. "That actually helps. Thanks."
Jamie smirked. "Anytime."
As they continued walking, the conversation drifted into a comfortable silence. The streets were quieter now, the evening settling in with a cool breeze. Streetlights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the pavement.
They reached a modest house with a wraparound veranda, the soft light from inside spilling onto the porch. Lexie stopped at the steps, turning to face Jamie.
"Well," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "This is me."
Jamie nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Not a bad place."
Lexie chuckled. "It's home."
They stood there for a beat too long, neither quite moving to end the moment. Lexie shifted on her feet, her gaze flickering up to his, and for a second, neither of them spoke. There was something unspoken in the air between them—something neither of them seemed quite ready to acknowledge yet.
Then, the door swung open.
A woman, warm-eyed, with a familiar brightness to her expression—stepped onto the veranda, her arms crossed.
"Lexie, where have you—" She stopped mid-sentence when she saw Jamie, her eyebrows lifting slightly in intrigue. "Oh."
Lexie turned, visibly tensing. "Mom."
Jamie smirked, biting back amusement as the woman's expression shifted from mild concern to outright interest.
"And who's this handsome young man?" she asked, her eyes practically twinkling.
Lexie groaned. "Mom."
Jamie, ever composed, gave a polite nod. "Jamie." He gestured toward Lexie. "Met her at a taco stand. Walked her home since it was getting late."
Lexie's mother clasped her hands together with a grin. "What a gentleman!"
Lexie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mom, seriously."
Jamie chuckled, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Before I go—can I get your number?"
Lexie, still red-faced from her mother's antics, sighed but took his phone, quickly typing it in before handing it back.
"Thanks," Jamie said, slipping the phone away. "I'll see you around, Lexie."
With that, he nodded to her mother, then turned and walked back down the street. He could still hear Lexie behind him.
"Mom, that was so embarrassing."
He smiled slightly, before walking back to his car.
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Back in his penthouse, Jamie poured himself a glass of wine and stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city below. The lights of Seattle stretched out endlessly, shimmering against the dark sky. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass.
But his mind wasn't on the view.
It drifted back to her.
Lexie.
The way she laughed, the way she held herself—confident yet unguarded. Her sharp mind, her quick wit. The way her dark green eyes held an energy that pulled him in without effort. He hadn't expected her to linger in his thoughts, but there she was, as vivid as if she were still standing next to him.
Jamie took a slow sip of wine, exhaling through his nose. He shook his head slightly, almost amused at himself.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was just a fleeting impression, the remnants of a good conversation.
Or maybe, it was something else entirely.
Jamie set his glass down and walked over to the grand piano in the corner of the room. His fingers brushed the keys before he sat down, stretching his hands once before pressing down on the ivory.
This time, the tune was different.
Not melancholic, not filled with old memories—something lighter. Something new.
His hands moved effortlessly, weaving a melody that felt almost like a release. He played with no particular intention, letting the notes guide him. His chest loosened, the weight he carried easing just slightly.
For the first time in a long time, the music wasn't about the past.
It was about the present.
Jamie let the final notes linger in the air, his fingers hovering over the keys before slowly pulling back. The apartment was silent again, save for the faint hum of the city outside.
He exhaled, leaning back slightly as he ran a hand through his hair.
His mind drifted back to Lexie, to the way she had smiled, the way she had laughed so easily, the way her sharp mind matched his stride for stride.
A rare thing.
A shame.
Jamie sighed, rolling his shoulders before muttering under his breath, "It's a pity she'll go back to Boston."
He sat there for a moment, staring at the keys, before shaking his head and pushing himself up from the piano bench.
It was what it was.
With one last glance out the window, he grabbed his glass of wine and took another sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest.
For now, that would have to be enough.