The Knight’s Oath: Grey’s Anatomy

Jamie stepped into Seattle Grace, and the chaos hit him like a wall. The ER overflowed with patients coughing, sneezing, and clutching thermometers, while the nurses raced between gurneys, handing out surgical masks like they were candy. The air had a faint antiseptic tang that barely masked the reality of the flu epidemic wreaking havoc in the city.

The automatic doors hissed shut behind him as a young doctor in scrubs brushed past, holding a tiny, swaddled baby in his arms. The doctor looked rushed, his face set in a mixture of determination and mild panic.

"Excuse me," Jamie called, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "Where's the attending lounge?"

The doctor—Karev, according to the ID badge pinned to his chest—barely glanced back. "Upstairs, second floor," he said over his shoulder, disappearing down the hall toward the elevators. "If you survive this madhouse."

Jamie shook his head, smirking faintly as he tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel bag. "Trial by fire," he muttered under his breath, weaving his way through the crowded hallway.

Two men in CDC uniforms stood near the lockers, their body language tense. Derek Shepherd and George O'Malley stood nearby, their faces etched with frustration. Derek's arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and George shifted nervously on his feet, glancing between the CDC officials and the door.

"What's going on here?" Jamie asked, stepping fully into the room and setting his duffel bag on a nearby bench.

One of the CDC officers turned toward him, his clipboard in hand. "You're Dr. Knight, right?"

"That's me," Jamie said. "Mind filling me in?"

The officer sighed, his tone clipped and businesslike. "We're investigating a potential outbreak. A patient, Amanda Gordon, underwent a craniotomy yesterday. Post-op, she developed a high fever, severe respiratory distress, and a rash. Symptoms consistent with pneumonic plague."

Jamie's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Pneumonic plague? That's... rare."

"Rare but dangerous," the officer said. "Dr. Shepherd and Dr. O'Malley were both in direct contact with the patient during surgery. Until we confirm the diagnosis, they're under quarantine."

"Quarantine?" Derek's voice was sharp, cutting through the explanation. "We wore proper protective gear. There's no reason to assume we were exposed."

The CDC officer remained unfazed. "Protective gear isn't foolproof. We're not taking chances. Until the lab results come back, you and Dr. O'Malley are confined to isolation."

Jamie leaned casually against a locker, watching the exchange. "Pneumonic plague spreads fast," he said, his tone even. "If the patient coughed in the OR, there's a risk."

Derek shot him a look, his jaw tightening. "I don't need a lecture, Knight."

"Not a lecture," Jamie replied with a faint smirk. "Just stating the facts."

George, who had been quiet up to this point, finally spoke, his voice shaky. "How long are we going to be stuck in quarantine?"

"As long as it takes," the CDC officer said flatly.

"This is insane," Derek muttered, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Jamie. "You're just standing there watching. Got any advice, or are you just enjoying the show?"

Jamie shrugged. "My advice? Stop arguing. It's not going to change anything. Let them run their tests, and maybe they'll cut you loose early."

Derek let out a frustrated sigh but didn't argue further as the CDC officers gestured for him and George to follow them. As they left the room, Derek turned back, his expression serious.

"Watch the OR board for me," he said. "And make sure someone checks in on Meredith."

Jamie gave a small nod. "Will do."

The hallway outside the locker room was no less chaotic than when Jamie had entered the hospital. Word of the quarantine had clearly spread, and the tension in the air felt heavier now. Nurses and doctors exchanged worried glances as they moved between patients, their chatter filled with hushed speculations about the plague.

Jamie's pager buzzed on his hip, pulling his focus. Trauma Bay 3. MVC with head trauma and suspected spinal injury.

"Here we go," Jamie muttered, weaving his way through the crowded hallways.

The trauma bay was a flurry of movement as Jamie stepped in. A man in his late fifties lay on the gurney, blood matting his gray hair as paramedics rattled off vitals.

"Motor vehicle collision. Unrestrained driver. GCS 8 at the scene, pupils unequal, BP's dropping—90 over 60."

Jamie slid on gloves and moved to the patient's side. His eyes quickly assessed the man's injuries, taking in the shallow breathing and visible bruising on the chest.

"Possible epidural hematoma," Jamie said, his voice steady. "We need a CT scan, stat. And prep for intubation—he's herniating."

The nurses moved quickly, following Jamie's orders with practiced efficiency. As the patient's vitals continued to drop, Jamie inserted the endotracheal tube with precision, securing the airway as the monitors beeped in warning.

"Call neurosurgery," Jamie said, glancing at the nurse beside him.

The nurse hesitated. "Dr. Shepherd's in quarantine."

Jamie suppressed a sigh. "Then page oh ... Hahn. If there's a vascular bleed, cardio can assist."

The patient was stabilized enough for transport, and Jamie peeled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin as he stepped out of the trauma bay. His first day at Seattle Grace was already living up to its reputation: chaos, drama, and everything in between.

As he walked down the hallway toward the main atrium, his attention was drawn to two figures standing near the nurses' station. Dr. Richard Webber, the hospital's chief of surgery, was speaking with a striking red-haired woman in a crisp white coat. Jamie recognized her instantly—Dr. Addison Montgomery. Her reputation as one of the best neonatal surgeons and OB/GYNs in the country had preceded her.

From a distance, Jamie caught snippets of their conversation.

"We'll test the girls," Addison was saying, her tone calm but firm. "The baby is blood type OO. If the girls are A or B, they're not the mother. It's straightforward, and it'll give us a place to start."

Webber nodded slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Alright. I'll authorize the blood tests. But keep me updated on the results. I don't want this turning into a circus."

Addison gave him a quick nod of thanks, her gaze sharp and focused as she flipped through the papers on her clipboard.

Jamie approached just as their conversation was wrapping up. "Dr. Webber," he said, offering a polite smile.

Webber turned, his expression softening slightly as he recognized Jamie. "Dr. Knight. Settling in?"

"Something like that," Jamie said, glancing briefly at Addison before returning his attention to Webber. "This place definitely keeps you on your toes."

"That it does," Webber agreed. "Jamie, this is Dr. Addison Montgomery. Addison, this is Dr. James Knight, our new trauma attending."

Addison's blue eyes flicked up from her clipboard, and a small, professional smile curved her lips. "Ah, the new guy. I've heard about you. Army trauma surgeon, right?"

Jamie nodded. "That's right."

"Well," Addison said, tilting her head slightly, "you've certainly picked an interesting time to join us."

Jamie smirked faintly. "Seems like it."

Webber cleared his throat. "Addison's dealing with a bit of a... delicate situation. A newborn was left in a high school trash bin. Addison's trying to track down the mother."

Jamie frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. "The baby's okay?"

"For now," Addison said, her tone softening slightly. "Premature, but stable. We've got the baby in the NICU under close monitoring. The challenge now is finding the mother—and making sure she's okay too."

Webber clapped Jamie on the shoulder, drawing his attention back. "How's your first day going? No one's scared you off yet, I hope."

Jamie chuckled lightly. "Not yet. Though the CDC and their quarantine stunt came close."

Addison arched an eyebrow. "The plague case? Heard about that. You worked on the trauma bay while the hospital's still dealing with that mess?"

"Somebody has to," Jamie said simply.

Addison's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Well, welcome to Seattle Grace, Dr. Knight. Something tells me you're going to fit right in."

"Thanks," Jamie said, meeting her gaze briefly before turning back to Webber. "If there's nothing else, I'll check the board and see where I'm needed next."

Webber nodded. "Good idea. I'll be checking in later."

Jamie turned and headed for the OR board. Addison watched him go, her expression contemplative.

"He's sharp," she said, glancing at Webber. "We could use more like him."

Webber nodded, his eyes following Jamie's retreating form. "Let's just hope he can keep up. This place has a way of testing even the best."

The halls of Seattle Grace had finally quieted as the day gave way to night, but the tension from the earlier chaos still lingered in the air. Jamie walked through the nearly empty atrium, the fluorescent lights casting sharp reflections on the polished floors. The distant hum of machines and the occasional muffled voice from patient rooms were the only sounds left.

As Jamie turned the corner, a blur of movement caught his eye. Derek Shepherd ran past him, his face a mix of urgency and frustration, his lab coat flaring behind him like a cape. George O'Malley trailed closely behind, his steps less coordinated but equally hurried.

"Dr. Shepherd?" Jamie called out, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Neither of them slowed down, but Derek shouted over his shoulder, "Not now, Knight!" before disappearing around the corner.

George, panting slightly, glanced back briefly. "Sorry, uh—can't stop!" he managed before vanishing after Derek.

Jamie watched them go, his brow furrowing slightly. Whatever had Derek running at this hour couldn't be good. But it wasn't his business—at least, not yet.

With a faint sigh, Jamie adjusted the strap of his bag and continued toward the exit. The day had been long, and the adrenaline that had fueled him through it was finally wearing off. It was time to go home.

Jamie's Penthouse

The rain had started again by the time Jamie pulled into the underground parking garage of his building. The sleek black Aston Martin purred to a stop in its reserved spot, and Jamie stepped out, the faint smell of rain and asphalt filling the air.

The elevator ride to his penthouse was silent, the faint hum of the machinery the only sound as the numbers ticked upward. When the doors opened, Jamie stepped into his apartment, the soft glow of automated lights illuminating the modern, minimalist space.

He set his bag down on the kitchen counter and poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. The day had been... something. From flu patients to plague quarantines, a high-speed trauma case. 

"What a day" Jamie says to himself, before looking outside the windows onto the skyline.