The Knight’s Oath: Grey’s Anatomy

Jamies Penthouse:

Jamie woke in the dead of night, drenched in sweat. The penthouse around him was eerily silent, the shadows stretching long and thin across the floor as the faint glow of the city lights poured through the glass walls. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow as if he had just sprinted a marathon.

He reached out instinctively, his hand brushing the cool surface of the nightstand, where a photo frame sat. Turning it toward him, Jamie stared at the image: a younger version of himself, sitting proudly on his dad's shoulders. His grin was wide and toothy, his small hands gripping his father's head like he might topple over if he let go. His mom stood beside them, her hand resting lightly on her husband's arm, her smile radiant and carefree. She wore a bright floral dress, the kind that always reminded Jamie of summer.

They were at the airport that day, welcoming his dad home from what had been his last deployment. He'd traded his Navy fatigues for the uniform of a New York firefighter not long after. 

Jamie's fingers tightened around the frame. The memory should have brought comfort, but instead, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. The dream still clung to him, the vivid images refusing to fade. His eyes fluttered closed, and despite himself, the memory dragged him under.

Flashback: Darkest Moments 

It was the fall of 1990, a crisp October afternoon. Jamie came home from school, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The faint melody of the piano drifted through the penthouse, soft and lilting. His mom always played when she had the chance—it was her way of unwinding after long days at the hospital. Jamie smiled faintly, heading toward the kitchen.

"Mom?" he called, dropping his bag on the counter.

No answer.

Instead, he found his dad sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. The piano had gone silent, the absence of its notes hanging heavy in the air. A cup of coffee sat untouched in front of him, the steam curling upward in lazy spirals.

"Dad?" Jamie asked, frowning. Something about the stillness of the room sent a chill down his spine.

His dad didn't answer right away. His shoulders heaved slightly, and when he finally looked up, his face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. Jamie froze.

"Jamie," his dad said softly, his voice trembling. "We need to talk."

"What's wrong?" Jamie's heart pounded in his chest, an uncomfortable tightness settling in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his dad cry.

His dad hesitated, his throat working as if the words physically hurt to say. "It's your mom…" His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment before continuing. "She… she didn't make it."

Jamie blinked, the words not registering. "Didn't make it where?" he asked, his voice rising slightly.

His dad reached across the table, his hand gripping Jamie's arm tightly. "There was an accident," he said, his tone breaking. "She was on her way to a scene—a car crash. The team at the hospital wasn't equipped to handle it, and she thought she could help, but… Jamie, there was a truck. It hit her car. She…" His voice faltered again, and he shook his head. "I'm so sorry."

Jamie stared at his father, the words swirling around him like a storm. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That doesn't make sense. She's… she's Mom. She's fine."

"Jamie…" His dad's voice broke completely now, tears spilling down his face. "I—God, I'm so sorry. I should've stopped her. I should've—"

"No!" Jamie yelled, standing so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. "You're lying!"

"Jamie—"

"She promised she'd be back!" Jamie's voice cracked as he shouted. "She said—she said she'd be late, but she'd be back! She promised!"

The sound of Jamie's voice echoing through the room was deafening. His dad didn't say anything this time. He just buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Jamie felt his chest constrict, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. He stumbled backward, his legs trembling as he fought to hold himself together. But it was no use. The walls of the penthouse, the once-familiar comfort of home, all of it was closing in on him.

"I need to…" Jamie's voice wavered as he backed toward the door. "I need to go."

"Jamie—wait!" His dad stood, but Jamie had already grabbed his coat and bolted. The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the empty space, leaving his dad standing alone in the kitchen, the untouched coffee growing cold.

Present 

Jamie's eyes snapped open, the memory dissolving as he sat upright in bed. His chest heaved, his breaths ragged. The photo frame was still in his hand, his knuckles white from gripping it so tightly.

He set it down gently, his fingers brushing over the glass. His reflection stared back at him, fractured and distorted by the photo beneath.

He rose from the bed and moved to the grand piano in the living room, the cool marble floor grounding him. Sliding onto the bench, he opened the lid and placed his hands on the keys. The melody his mom used to play came back to him easily, his fingers moving instinctively. It was slow, soft, the kind of tune that could fill a room without overwhelming it.

But as the last note faded, Jamie's hands stilled. The silence in the penthouse felt suffocating again. The memories of his mom, of his dad, were everywhere here. No matter how much he tried to bury them, they always rose to the surface, demanding to be felt.

Jamie leaned forward, resting his head against the cool wood of the piano. Some nights, the memories were a comfort, a reminder of what he'd loved and lost.

Tonight, they were a weight he couldn't bear.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamie pulled his car into the hospital parking lot, the headlights cutting through the predawn fog. The city was still quiet, the streets empty save for the occasional cab or delivery truck. Seattle Grace loomed ahead, its lights bright against the early morning darkness.

He didn't need to be here yet—his shift didn't start for hours—but sitting alone in his penthouse, drowning in memories, wasn't an option. He needed the noise of the hospital, the sharp focus of surgery, the comfort of control.

Sliding out of the driver's seat, Jamie grabbed his bag and headed inside. The fluorescent lights of the main hallway buzzed faintly, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. It was oddly soothing.

Jamie pushed through the quiet halls of Seattle Grace, the click of his boots echoing faintly in the empty corridor. He hadn't even bothered to check the board yet—he didn't need to. Early mornings were his territory, the time he could get into the zone, just him and the scalpel. No distractions, no drama. Just the work.

In the scrub room, he glanced at the clock—3:45 a.m.—and rolled up his sleeves, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The hum of the OR lights beyond the glass door was like a siren call.

"Time to save some lives," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. It wasn't a pep talk or a declaration. It was a routine, a mantra, the same thing he'd said a hundred times before stepping into warzones, trauma bays, and every battlefield in between.

By the time the city started to stir, Jamie would already be five patients deep.

By the time most of the hospital staff began trickling in, Jamie had already scrubbed in on his fifth surgery of the morning.

6:30 AM

The anesthesiologist, Dr. Warren, stood just outside the OR, his arms crossed, a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration on his face. "Five," he muttered, shaking his head. "Five surgeries before the sun's fully up. Does the guy even sleep?"

Webber, passing by on his morning rounds, paused. "Who are you talking about, Warren?"

"Knight," Warren replied, gesturing toward the OR. "Came in at four and started stacking cases like a damn machine. Appy, cholecystectomy, two hernia repairs, and now an open bowel resection. He's flying through them like it's nothing. If he weren't so damn good, I'd be mad."

Webber raised an eyebrow. "That's why you're complaining? Because he's good?"

Warren sighed, running a hand over his face. "Look, I'm impressed, okay? His technique is flawless—minimal bleeding, fast as hell, precise. But I've been in the OR almost nonstop, and I've got a shift tonight. My team's wiped."

Webber smirked. "Welcome to working with the best, Warren. Get some coffee. You'll survive."

Warren grumbled something under his breath as Webber walked away, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6:45 AM – Inside the OR

Jamie worked in near silence, his focus unshakable as he maneuvered through the patient's abdomen. His hands moved with a speed and precision that left the surgical team scrambling to keep up.

"Suction," he said calmly, barely glancing up.

The scrub nurse handed him the instrument, and he quickly cleared the area of blood before continuing.

"You're closing already?" one of the residents assisting him asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That… that was fast."

"Not fast," Jamie corrected, tying off a suture with a deft flick of his wrist. "Efficient. There's a difference."

The resident nodded quickly, clearly trying to absorb everything Jamie was doing.

"Dr. Knight," Dr. Warren said from his post at the head of the table, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "You know, you're setting an unfair standard for the rest of us mere mortals. Maybe ease up a little?"

Jamie glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Noted, Warren. I'll try to slow down for you."

The OR erupted in soft laughter, the tension easing slightly as Jamie finished the last stitch and stepped back.

"Good work, everyone," he said, stripping off his gloves. "Let's get the patient to recovery."

As he walked out of the OR, he spotted Webber waiting just outside.

"Knight," Webber said, falling into step beside him. "Warren's been singing your praises. Though I think he'd like it if you gave him a chance to sit down once in a while."

Jamie smirked faintly. "Noted, Chief."

"You good?" Webber asked, his tone shifting slightly.

Jamie paused, his expression unreadable. "I'm fine."

Webber nodded slowly, though it was clear he didn't entirely believe him. "Just don't burn yourself out, Knight. We've got a lot of sick people —and you're not going to be much help to them if you run yourself into the ground."

Jamie nodded . "I know, Chief."

As Webber walked away, Jamie turned toward the nearest scrub sink, leaning against it for a moment. He stared at his reflection in the polished metal, the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes betraying the energy he tried so hard to project.

He was fine.

He had to be.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The residents of Seattle Grace—Meredith, Cristina, George, and Alex—arrived in their usual state of varying disarray. Meredith held a coffee cup in one hand, her hair still damp from her rushed morning shower. Cristina looked as though she hadn't slept at all, which was entirely possible. George had a faintly guilty expression, no doubt related to some ongoing Callie drama. Alex just looked smug, as usual.

"Why is it so damn bright in here?" Cristina grumbled, shielding her eyes as they walked into the hospital.

"Because it's morning?" Alex offered, earning him a glare.

Meredith glanced toward the OR board as they passed, her brow furrowing. "Wait, are those…?" She stopped walking, squinting at the board. "Knight's already done five surgeries? It's not even seven."

George blinked, stepping closer to read the board. "How is that even possible? Did he sleep here or something?"

"He's insane," Cristina said flatly, but there was a glint of admiration in her eyes. "I mean, look at these cases. These aren't your typical 'I've got a hangnail' surgeries. Open bowel resection? Before breakfast? That's hardcore."

"Or he's avoiding something," Meredith murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Alex snorted. "What, you're gonna psychoanalyze the guy now? Maybe he's just, I don't know, good at his job?"

"Good at his job?" Cristina repeated, raising an eyebrow. "The guy's a freaking scalpel ninja. There's good, and then there's… whatever he is."

By the time Jamie walked out of the scrub room after his fifth surgery, the hospital was finally starting to wake up. The sterile brightness of the halls was matched by the shuffle of incoming nurses, residents, and early-shift doctors. His shoulders were loose, his mind sharp, and his scrubs were already marked with faint smudges of blood from a morning of intense cases.

Bailey intercepted him near the nurse's station, clipboard in hand and her usual look of no-nonsense determination on her face.

"Knight," she barked. "I know you've already done enough surgeries to put most attendings to shame today, but I've got something that needs your attention in the pit."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "The pit? Isn't that more of Karev's playground?"

Bailey snorted. "It would be, if he weren't busy dodging his assignments." She shot a pointed glare across the hall, where Alex was hovering near Addison Montgomery.

Addison, standing a few feet away, caught the tail end of the conversation. "Karev," she called out. "You ready to head to OB?"

Alex grimaced. "OB again? Isn't this getting a little old?"

"Nope," Addison replied with a sharp smile, clearly enjoying his misery. "Makes my whole day, actually." Before Alex could respond, her phone buzzed. She answered, her expression shifting slightly as she listened. "Hello? Are you okay? No, I can't—I've got to... Five minutes. Okay." She hung up and waved him off. "Go find something to do in the pit."

Alex looked like he'd just won the lottery. "Yes, ma'am," he said, all too eagerly, before hurrying away.

Bailey watched the exchange with thinly veiled exasperation. "That boy's more slippery than a wet fish," she muttered before turning back to Jamie. "Guess he's already there. Go keep him in line, Knight."

When Jamie walked into the pit, the sound of Alex arguing with a young girl immediately drew his attention. Alex stood near a gurney, holding a patient's chart in one hand and gesturing with the other. The girl on the bed, no older than 10 or 11, had her arms crossed defiantly, her legs swinging back and forth as though she couldn't care less about whatever Alex was saying.

"You stapled your own arm?" Alex asked, his voice tinged with equal parts disbelief and annoyance. "What the hell?"

"I didn't want to go to the doctor again," the girl replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's not a big deal."

Jamie stepped closer, glancing at the girl's chart over Alex's shoulder. "What's the story here, Karev?"

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is Megan Clover. Foster kid. Fourth visit in three months. Covered in bruises, and she stapled a ten-centimeter lac on her arm with what I'm guessing was a staple gun."

Jamie frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Megan. "Did her foster parents do this?"

"She says no," Alex replied. "But, come on. Who staples their own arm?"

"I do!" Megan piped up, her voice indignant. "I told you, they didn't touch me. They're the best parents I've ever had, and you're not taking me away from them."

Jamie studied her carefully. The bruises on her arms were deep, but they didn't look like handprints or other signs of abuse. Still, he wasn't about to dismiss the possibility without more information.

Megan caught him staring and smirked. "I'm not lying, you know. I can't feel pain. Want me to prove it? Punch me in the stomach."

Jamie blinked, caught off guard by her boldness. "Let's not turn this into a boxing match, kid."

Alex rolled his eyes. "She's got this whole superhero complex. Says she can't be hurt."

"Superhero, huh?" Jamie said, his tone curious. "Alright, Megan. Let's test those superpowers."

A short while later, Alex returned with a bucket of ice water for the cold pressure test. Jamie and Bailey stood nearby as Megan dipped her hands into the icy water without so much as flinching.

"You're supposed to pull your hands out when it starts to hurt," Alex said, watching her with a mix of skepticism and fascination.

"It doesn't hurt," Megan replied, her voice steady. "I told you, I don't feel pain."

Jamie crouched beside her, studying her closely. "Not even a tingle?"

She shook her head. "I'm serious. I can't be hurt."

Bailey crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "Chronic insensitivity to pain," she muttered. "Seen it once before in a kid her age. Explains the bruises and why she thought stapling her own arm was a good idea."

Jamie nodded. "And why she keeps getting hurt. She doesn't recognize when she's overdoing it."

Megan stared at them, her expression defiant. "You're talking like I'm broken or something."

"You're not broken," Jamie said, his voice firm but gentle. "But your body works differently, and that means you've got to be extra careful. You might not feel pain, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. If you don't start paying attention to your injuries, one of these days, you're going to get hurt worse than you realize."

Megan hesitated, her confidence wavering for the first time. "So, what do I do?"

"Start listening to us," Jamie said, giving her a small smile. "We're going to take care of that leg and run some tests to confirm the diagnosis. But after that, it's up to you to learn how to take care of yourself. Deal?"

She nodded slowly. "Deal."

As Megan was wheeled toward the OR, Alex turned to Jamie, shaking his head. "Supergirl's one tough kid."

"Yeah," Jamie agreed, watching her go. "But she's going to need a hell of a lot of help if she wants to keep her powers in check."

Bailey smirked. "Good luck getting her to listen to you, Knight."

Jamie chuckled. "Oh, I've got a feeling she'll come around."

Bailey gave him a knowing look. "We'll see."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamie stood in the scrub room, watching Megan through the glass window as the OR team prepped her for surgery. Despite her tough exterior, the girl's small frame seemed even smaller under the bright overhead lights.

Bailey entered the scrub room, tying her cap with practiced ease. "Alright, Knight. This one's yours."

Jamie looked up, surprised. "You're letting me take the lead?"

Bailey smirked. "You've already been on fire this morning. Might as well let you keep the streak going. Plus, Karev here could use a few lessons on how to handle kids."

Alex scoffed. "I can handle kids just fine."

Bailey raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because from what I heard, she's the one handling you."

Jamie suppressed a grin. "Don't worry, Karev. Stick with me, and you might learn a thing or two."

Alex rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as they finished scrubbing in.

As the surgery began, Jamie focused. The laceration on Megan's leg was deeper than it had initially seemed, but her lack of pain response had kept her from noticing. Jamie worked methodically, his hands steady as he debrided the wound and carefully inspected for any signs of infection or complications.

"Impressive," Bailey said from across the table, her tone neutral but with an undercurrent of approval. "Minimal bleeding. Clean edges. You make it look easy."

Jamie glanced up briefly, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not about easy, Dr. Bailey. It's about making sure she can keep her superhero title intact."

Alex smirked from his position at the head of the table. "I don't think she needs much help with that. Did you hear her earlier? Telling me to punch her in the stomach. Kid's fearless."

"Fearless or reckless," Bailey countered. "Big difference. And it's our job to make sure she knows it."

As Jamie placed the final suture, he stepped back, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. "That should do it. Let's get her closed up and into recovery."

Recovery Room

Megan stirred as the effects of the anesthesia began to wear off. Jamie stood by her bedside, arms crossed as he watched her wake. When her eyes finally fluttered open, she blinked up at him, her expression groggy but curious.

"Did you fix it?" she asked, her voice still a little slurred.

Jamie nodded. "All patched up. But you've got to promise me something, Megan. No more staples. If you get hurt, you come to us. Deal?"

Megan hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Deal."

Alex appeared at the doorway, a smug look on his face. "Supergirl's awake. Guess she'll be saving the world again in no time."

"Not without some rules," Jamie said firmly. He turned back to Megan, his tone softening. "You're not invincible, kid. Remember that."

She gave him a faint smile. "You sound like my dad."

Jamie froze for a moment, the weight of her words hitting harder than he expected. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. "Get some rest. We'll check on you later."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Jamie left Megan's recovery room, Bailey intercepted him in the hallway.

"Knight, you're up in neuro. Shepherd's got a corpus callosotomy lined up, and he wants you on it. Says he's got more faith in your hands than the entire neuro team combined. Not that I'm arguing," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Jamie smirked, already knowing where this was going. "Shepherd just wants an excuse to steal me from cardio again."

Bailey gave him a flat look, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly. "You complaining about being in demand, Knight? Don't keep him waiting. You know how Shepherd gets when he's left to his own devices."

Jamie chuckled, turning on his heel toward the neurosurgery wing. "What would you do without me, Bailey?"

"I sleep better when you're not around," she fired back, already walking away.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"There he is," Derek said, glancing over with a grin. "Thought you'd be too busy playing superhero in the pit."

"Didn't realize you were keeping tabs on me, Derek," Jamie replied, smirking as he moved to the sink. "Or did you just miss me that much?"

Cristina raised an eyebrow, looking between the two men. "What is this? Some kind of secret neuro-cardio bromance? Should I be concerned?"

"Not secret," Jamie said dryly, lathering his hands. "Shepherd just likes to borrow the best when he's got a tricky case."

"Don't let it go to your head," Derek shot back, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his tone. "This one's big. Figured you'd want in."

Jamie nodded, his tone growing serious. "What's the case?"

Derek finished scrubbing and stepped back, letting Cristina and Jamie catch up. "Taylor Tressel. Mid-30s, five seizures a day. We've tried meds, but nothing's worked. This surgery is his best shot. It's not a cure, but if we can reduce the frequency and severity, he'll have his life back."

Cristina cut in, her voice rapid-fire. "Corpus callosotomy. Severing the fibers connecting the hemispheres of his brain to prevent the spread of seizure activity. Risks include speech impairment, memory issues, motor dysfunction—basically, everything."

"Confident," Jamie repeated, his lips twitching upward. "Good to know you're not just winging it, Derek."

Jamie followed Derek and Cristina into the OR prep area, his tone still light despite the serious nature of the procedure. As they prepared to scrub in, Jamie glanced over at Derek, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "So, Derek, you ready to tell me what's going on with you and Grey? Or are you planning to keep playing it cool?"

Derek paused for a moment, shooting Jamie a sideways glance. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes.

Jamie raised a brow, clearly not buying it. "Oh, come on. You're cutting brains in half, but you're still finding time to hover around her every five minutes. And then there's the vet. What's his name? Finn? Don't tell me you're not feeling the competition."

Cristina, standing nearby, perked up at this and couldn't resist chiming in. "Oh, he's feeling it," she said dryly, pulling on her gloves. "Derek was practically throwing daggers at Finn in the cafeteria earlier. The whole hospital knows."

Derek sighed, giving them both a look that was equal parts exasperated and resigned. "I'm not throwing daggers. I'm focused on my work, as should both of you be."

Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, Shepherd. You don't invite Grey to scrub in during her lunch date with Finn unless you're trying to send a message."

Cristina snorted in agreement. "Which he very much did. And let's not forget, he didn't just send a message—he delivered it in person."

Derek gave an exaggerated sigh, clearly outnumbered. "Alright, fine," he admitted. "Maybe I don't like Finn hanging around Meredith. He's—"

"A perfectly decent guy?" Cristina interjected.

"A distraction," Derek finished firmly, ignoring her. "She's trying to balance work and... whatever this is with Finn. And I want to make sure she's still focused on what matters."

Jamie gave Derek a knowing look as he rinsed his hands under the faucet. "And what matters just happens to include you, right?"

Derek didn't answer immediately, but the way he pressed his lips together said enough. "Let's just focus on the patient, shall we?"

Cristina rolled her eyes, muttering, "Typical." She turned to Jamie, clearly enjoying this too much. "And what about you, Knight? You always manage to avoid the messy relationship drama. What's your secret?"

Jamie smirked, pulling his mask over his face. "My secret is staying too busy saving lives to get caught up in it."

Derek shot him a quick glance. "You might want to teach Meredith that strategy."

Jamie shook his head as they stepped into the OR. "Oh, no. That's all you, Shepherd. She's your mess to clean up."

Inside the OR

Derek stood at the head of the operating table, his usual calm precision filling the room with a quiet sense of control. The faint hum of the monitors was the only background sound as the team focused on Taylor Tressel's open skull, the delicate structures of his brain exposed beneath the bright surgical lights.

Jamie had positioned himself near the patient's vitals monitor, his sharp eyes scanning the readouts as he managed the suction. Beside him, Meredith maneuvered delicately, following Derek's instructions with her usual steadfast focus. Cristina, as always, stood poised, her energy a combination of barely-contained excitement and razor-sharp attention.

Derek's voice broke the silence, smooth and measured. "I'm retracting the right hemisphere. What do we want to avoid here, Grey?"

Meredith didn't miss a beat. "We want to avoid retractors on the sagittal sinus."

"Exactly. And why is that?"

Cristina jumped in before Meredith could reply, her tone clipped and impatient. "To prevent sinus thrombosis. Or are we looking to deal with a massive intracranial bleed on top of everything else?"

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of Derek's mouth, though his eyes never left the operating field. "Glad to know you're paying attention, Yang. Although let's keep the sarcasm to a minimum while we're dealing with someone's brain."

Jamie chuckled softly under his mask, exchanging a glance with Cristina. "I think sarcasm is her baseline, Shepherd. It's her love language."

Cristina didn't even look up. "Keeps the day interesting."

Derek shook his head slightly but didn't argue. He adjusted his grip on the retractors, clearing the view of the delicate fibers connecting the two hemispheres of the brain. "Yang, keep an eye on the pericallosal arteries. Grey, manage the suction. Knight, you're on vitals—let me know if there's even a hint of instability."

Jamie nodded, his tone steady. "Vitals are rock solid. We're good."

The team fell into a rhythm, each movement deliberate and precise. Jamie's hands were sure as he adjusted the suction, keeping the field clear while Meredith passed Derek a fine scalpel. Cristina monitored the surgical area, her gaze flicking between the arteries and the cortical structures as Derek prepared for the next step.

"We're beginning the anterior corpus callosotomy," Derek announced, his voice calm but focused. "This is where things get delicate. Grey, keep the suction steady. Yang, be ready to handle any vascular surprises."

Cristina scoffed softly. "I live for vascular surprises."

Jamie's voice carried a touch of humor. "Remind me to never invite you to a dinner party, Yang."

Meredith stifled a laugh as Derek carefully began severing the fibers of the corpus callosum, his movements precise and methodical. The neurophysiologist monitoring the cortical responses spoke up from the corner of the room.

"Cortical responses are stable. No motor or sensory disruptions so far."

Derek nodded, his focus unwavering. "Good. We're past the anterior third. Let's move to the central portion. Grey, I need better visualization—keep that suction steady."

"On it," Meredith replied, adjusting the instrument slightly. Her movements were smooth, her concentration absolute.

Jamie leaned slightly closer to the monitor, his eyes scanning the vitals. "Shepherd, we've got a slight dip in systolic pressure—nothing major for now."

Derek didn't look up, his hands still steady. "Okay, Knight. Let's keep an eye on it. Yang, check the positioning on the retractor. Make sure we're not causing compression."

Cristina moved quickly, adjusting the retractor with practiced ease. "Retractor's good. No compression."

"Perfect," Derek said. His tone was calm, but the slight tension in his jaw betrayed the high stakes of the procedure. He continued cutting through the delicate fibers, his movements as precise as a watchmaker's.

The team fell silent again, the banter fading into the background as the gravity of the procedure took precedence. Derek's hands moved deftly as he severed the final fibers of the corpus callosum, the beeping of the monitors a steady reassurance.

The neurophysiologist spoke up again. "No changes in motor or sensory responses. The patient's stable."

Derek leaned back slightly, his shoulders relaxing for the first time. "Good work, everyone. Let's close up."

As they began the closure process, Jamie glanced at Cristina, his tone light. "So, Yang, what do you think? Should we nominate Shepherd for most romantic neurosurgeon of the year?"

Cristina smirked. "He'd win. By default. Not exactly stiff competition."

Derek shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. "Jamie, you're going to kill me one day."

Jamie chuckled. "That's why you keep inviting me back, Shepherd."

As the surgical team wrapped up, Derek stepped out of the OR, pulling off his mask. Jamie and Cristina followed closely behind.

Derek glanced over at Jamie. "You know, Knight, for someone who's technically not neuro, you've got a pretty solid understanding of brain surgery. Ever considered jumping ship from cardio?"

Jamie smirked, wiping his hands with a towel. "As tempting as it is to join the brain club, someone's got to keep hearts beating while you're busy slicing hemispheres in half."

Cristina snorted, clearly amused. "That's the nicest way I've ever heard someone say 'your specialty is boring.'"

Derek gave her a look but didn't rise to the bait. "Fine. Stick to cardio. But don't get too comfortable—you're going to be my go-to for anything neurovascular from now on."

Jamie gave a mock salute. "Anything to make your life easier, Shepherd."

The banter paused as Webber approached, his expression as unreadable as ever. He stopped just short of the group, his eyes scanning Derek, Jamie, and Cristina in turn. "Good work in there. Patient's stable, no complications—textbook success."

"Thanks, Chief," Derek said with a small nod.

Webber's gaze shifted to Jamie. "Knight, a word?"

The Chief's voice was low, but there was a weight to his tone that caught Jamie's attention. "I know you've been running yourself ragged since you got here. Five surgeries before most people even get their first coffee isn't sustainable. You're good—damn good—but you're not a machine."

Jamie crossed his arms, leaning back slightly against the wall. "I appreciate the concern, Chief, but I'm fine."

Webber studied him for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. "You're not fine, Knight. And that's okay. What you've been through, what you've lost—it doesn't just disappear because you throw yourself into work. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Jamie's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone even. "I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just doing my job."

Webber's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push further. "Alright. Just… make sure you're not running on empty. The hospital can't afford to lose someone like you."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jamie standing alone in the hallway.

Jamie stood in the corridor for a moment, Webber's words lingering like an uninvited guest. The Chief wasn't wrong, but admitting that—letting it in—wasn't an option. He pushed off the wall and headed toward the breakroom, hoping the walk would clear his head.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamie stepped into the breakroom to grab a much-needed coffee. The room was already buzzing. Cristina and Meredith sat at the table, bickering over a chart, while Alex leaned against the counter, smirking at something Bailey had just said. The air smelled of stale coffee and bagels, but the familiarity was oddly comforting.

"You're late, Knight," Cristina called out without looking up, her tone sharp but teasing. "For someone who's already conquered the board this morning, I expected you to be lording it over us by now."

Jamie smirked, pouring himself a cup. "Unlike you, Yang, I don't need to announce my greatness. I let my work speak for itself."

Cristina rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Alex, however, jumped in. "Speaking of greatness, Supergirl's leg looks good. No infection, perfect sutures. She'll probably be back to stapling herself together in no time."

Bailey, seated by the window, shot Alex a withering look. "You think that's funny, Karev? That girl needs to understand she's not invincible, or she's going to end up back here in pieces."

"I told her," Jamie interjected, taking a sip of coffee. "Whether she listens is another story."

Meredith glanced up from her chart, her brow furrowed. "Supergirl?"

"The kid in the pit this morning," Alex said. "Thinks she's a superhero because she can't feel pain. Knight practically had to convince her she wasn't made of steel."

"She stapled her own arm," Jamie added dryly, earning a horrified look from Meredith.

Cristina leaned back in her chair, clearly amused. "And here I thought I was hardcore."

Bailey cleared her throat, silencing the banter. "Alright, fun time's over. Some of us still have patients to see."

The group dispersed, leaving Jamie alone with his coffee.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After leaving the breakroom, Jamie found himself heading toward Derek's office. He wasn't sure why—maybe he needed the distraction, or maybe he just wanted to hear Derek's thoughts on Webber's little intervention. Either way, when he stepped into the office, Derek looked up from his desk, eyebrows raised.

"Knight," Derek greeted. "What brings you here? You're not thinking of stealing neuro cases again, are you?"

Jamie smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Tempting, but no. Just wanted to see if you've recovered from Cristina's commentary during the surgery. She's relentless."

Derek chuckled, setting his pen down. "Cristina's always relentless. It's how she learns. Honestly, it's how I learned."

Jamie nodded, but his expression turned thoughtful. "Shepherd, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's your secret?"

Derek blinked, confused. "My secret?"

Jamie gestured vaguely. "How you keep it together. Meredith, Finn, the mess of balancing personal life with a job like this—it doesn't get to you?"

Derek leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Who says I keep it together?"

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You seem to manage."

Derek hesitated, then said, "I don't think anyone really has it together, Jamie. You just… figure out what works for you. Some days, you focus on the work. Other days, you lean on the people who get it."

Jamie considered this for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough."

Derek's expression shifted, growing more serious. "Knight, if you're asking me this, then maybe you should ask yourself what's working for you—and what isn't."

Jamie's jaw tightened, but he gave Derek a small smile. "I'll think about it."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the night wore on, Jamie found himself back in the pit, reviewing charts and managing the steady influx of patients. He had just finished consulting on a relatively straightforward fracture when a nurse approached, her expression a mix of amusement and concern.

"Dr. Knight, you might want to handle this one," she said, handing him a chart. "Patient claims he swallowed a key."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "A key? Like... a house key?"

The nurse nodded, biting back a smile. "He says he was trying to prove a point to his roommate during an argument."

Jamie sighed, flipping open the chart as he made his way to the exam room. Inside, a man in his mid-thirties sat on the gurney, looking sheepish. He held his stomach as though bracing himself.

"Let me guess," Jamie said, closing the door behind him. "You lost the argument?"

The man winced. "Yeah. He said I was too uptight, so I told him I could swallow the key and still be more laid-back than him. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to laugh. "I'm guessing you realized it wasn't a good idea about halfway through."

"Pretty much," the man admitted. "Can you, uh, get it out?"

"Don't worry," Jamie said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "We'll get you sorted. Next time, maybe stick to less dramatic ways of proving your point."

Jamie looked to the nurse, tilting his head toward the supply room. "Get me an endoscope and prep the patient for an upper endoscopy. We'll check where the key is sitting and figure out the best way to retrieve it."

The nurse nodded, her professionalism returning as she stepped away to gather the necessary equipment.

Jamie turned back to the patient, his tone casual but firm. "Alright, here's the plan. We're going to use a scope—a small flexible tube with a camera on the end—to take a look inside your esophagus and stomach. If the key's still in the upper GI tract, we'll retrieve it with a grasper attachment. It's quick and relatively painless. Sound good?"

The patient blinked, his nerves kicking in. "You mean, you're going fishing in my stomach?"

Jamie smirked. "Basically, yeah. Don't worry. I've done this before. It's safer than letting it pass naturally—keys aren't exactly digestive-friendly."

The patient winced. "Okay. Just… please don't lose the key in there."

With the patient sedated and lying comfortably on his side, Jamie stood at the head of the bed, maneuvering the endoscope with steady hands. The monitor displayed a live feed from the camera as it traveled down the patient's esophagus, the walls of the GI tract illuminated in crisp detail.

"Nurse," Jamie said, his tone calm, "advance the grasper tool. Let's see if we can spot our prize."

As the endoscope reached the stomach, the object in question came into view—a small silver key, sitting at an awkward angle against the stomach lining. Jamie sighed in relief. "There it is. Looks like it hasn't caused any damage. Let's get it out before it decides to move somewhere less cooperative."

The nurse handed him control of the grasper attachment, and Jamie guided it through the endoscope with precision. On the monitor, the tiny claw-like tool latched onto the key, gripping it securely.

"Easy does it," Jamie murmured, gently retracting the scope. The live feed displayed the key as it slowly made its way back up the esophagus. The process required careful coordination—too much force, and the key could slip or cause a tear.

Within minutes, the key emerged intact. Jamie held it up triumphantly, giving the room a faint smirk. "One less thing for his roommate to worry about."

The nurse chuckled softly as she handed him a sterile container for the key. "Nice catch, Dr. Knight. Patient's going to have an interesting story to tell."

Jamie placed the key into the container and stepped back, peeling off his gloves. "Let's send him to recovery. No complications so far, but keep an eye on him overnight, just in case. And remind him: keys are for doors, not diets."

Late Evening in the Doctor's Lounge:

The day was winding down, the frenetic energy of Seattle Grace fading into a quieter hum. Jamie leaned against the counter in the doctor's lounge, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His scrubs were wrinkled, faint traces of blood on the cuffs—evidence of a long and exhausting shift. He glanced out the window, the city lights flickering against the darkening sky.

Izzie walked in, looking just as drained, though she carried herself with the same stubborn resolve she always did. Her blonde hair was tied back loosely, and her gaze was distant as she headed toward the fridge.

"Late-night snack?" Jamie asked, his voice casual but warm.

Izzie froze for a moment, then shook her head. "Not really hungry. Just… needed a minute."

Jamie gestured to the chair across from him. "Take two. You've earned it."

Izzie hesitated, then sighed and sat down, crossing her arms on the table. She stared at the wood grain, her thoughts clearly somewhere else.

"Rough day?" Jamie asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Rough year," Izzie muttered, her voice heavy. She looked up, meeting his gaze. "Danny..."

Jamie didn't push, letting the silence linger. He had heard bits and pieces about Denny Duquette—the patient she had fallen in love with, who had died tragically not long after she had risked everything for him. It wasn't a story you pressed someone to tell.

"You know," Izzie said finally, her voice breaking the quiet, "I thought if I worked hard enough, if I cared enough, I could save him. But none of it mattered. He still died. And now… I don't even know if I should be here."

Jamie studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You mean as a surgeon?"

She nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "What kind of doctor gets too emotionally involved to do her job? I'm supposed to save people, not—" She broke off, shaking her head.

"You're human, Izzie," Jamie said gently. "You care. That's not a flaw—it's why you're here."

"Doesn't feel that way," she said quietly. "Sometimes I think maybe I'm just not cut out for this. Maybe I'm not strong enough."

Jamie leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "You know, I used to think the same thing."

Izzie blinked, clearly surprised. "You?"

Jamie gave a small, wry smile. "First year in the field, I lost a patient—a kid, barely eighteen. His convoy was ambushed, and by the time they got him to me, he was bleeding out. I did everything I could—transfused blood, packed wounds, prayed. But it wasn't enough. He died on my table."

He paused, his gaze distant as the memory washed over him. "I couldn't stop thinking about what I should've done differently. I kept replaying it in my head, over and over, until it felt like I was suffocating. I started to wonder if I was even in the right place. If I had what it took to keep going."

Izzie watched him, her expression softening. "What changed?"

Jamie exhaled slowly, his voice steady but weighted. "I realized that losing patients wasn't a failure—it was a reminder. A reminder of why we do this. To give them a chance, no matter how small. To fight for them, even when it feels hopeless. Because sometimes, we win. And those wins? They make the losses worth it."

Izzie's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her emotions settling as she absorbed his words. "How do you… keep going? After everything?"

"You remember the ones you saved," Jamie said simply. "You hold onto them, and you let them remind you why you started in the first place. And you don't let the ones you lost define you. They're a part of the story, not the whole thing."

Izzie looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the table. "I just… I don't know if I can move past it. Every time I step into an OR, I think about Denny. I think about how I failed him."

Jamie's voice softened. "You didn't fail him, Izzie. You gave him hope when he needed it most. You gave him something no one else could. And yeah, it hurts. It'll probably hurt for a long time. But that hurt? It's what makes you good. It's what makes you fight harder for the next patient."

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I'm scared I'm going to mess up again."

"You will," Jamie said bluntly, though his tone was kind. "We all do. But you'll also save lives. More than you can imagine. And those lives? They'll make all of it—the fear, the doubt, the heartbreak—worth it."

For the first time that night, Izzie managed a small smile. "You're pretty good at this pep talk thing."

Jamie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Occupational hazard. Army docs don't exactly get a lot of downtime to wallow. You learn to move forward, or you don't last."

She nodded, her smile growing a little steadier. "Thanks, Jamie. I… needed that."

"Anytime," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "Just remember—you've got this. And if you ever need a reminder, you know where to find me."

Izzie stood, her shoulders a little straighter as she headed toward the door. She paused, glancing back at him. "Hey, Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"You're pretty good at this whole 'being human' thing."

Jamie smirked. "Don't tell Cristina. She'll never let me live it down."

Izzie laughed softly and walked out, leaving Jamie alone with his thoughts. He stared out the window again, the city lights shimmering against the dark. The hurt never truly went away, but maybe that was the point. It reminded you why you kept fighting.

And fight, he would.