Chapter 4

Harry Potter + Grey's Anatomy Crossover

By: Griffindorks I'd just been going through the motions of life after the war. I had served their purpose, so I went out and found my own. Now it's my time to thrive and be more than just the Boy-Who-Lived. Read to find out how he went from being wartime Harry to becoming a surgeon at Seattle Grace Hospital, and what changes he brings to its halls. Smart/Competent Harry, Better Summary in Profile.

Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - [Harry P., Addison M., Mark S.] Meredith G. - Chapters: 6 - Words: 50,149 - Reviews: 90 - Favs: 414 - Follows: 487 - Updated: May 10, 2020 - Published: Feb 8, 2020 - id: 13496368

+ -

AN: Thank you from the bottom of our hearts to everyone that reviewed because it helped us to improve our story. We have fixed a dialogue mistake in George's POV in Ch. 1, and we love the recommendation another reviewer left about making Harry's nickname McYummy. We intend to go back and change that, but we didn't have enough time at the moment.

As for this chapter, it is Part 1 of Ep. 3 because it was getting over 12,000 words so we had to split it, but don't worry, we intend to post Part 2 sometime next week. As always, we hope you have fun reading, and please review if you notice any mistakes or have better suggestions.

And finally, we would like to thank the amazingly helpful RHatch89 for being our Beta and helping us make our story better :D

Ep. Ref: S01E03

Chapter Four

According to Mer, "We live out our lives on the surgical unit, seven days a week, fourteen hours a day. We're together more than we're apart. After a while, the ways of residency become the ways of life. Number 1: Always keep score. Number 2: Do whatever you can to outsmart the other guy. Number 3: Don't make friends with the enemy. Oh, and yeah, Number 4: Everything, everything is a competition." That's usually how it feels in the beginning, but how do I tell her in a way she might actually believe, there's another way to thrive, a way you have to realize yourself. Number 5: It's not about the race at all, it's not about getting the coolest patient, or having the most surgeries under your belt. Victories are counted by the number of lives saved. And if you're smart you learn to not lose yourself in the competition.

Harry's POV

Harry took a leisurely sip from the cup in his hand, breathing in the peaceful atmosphere pervading his new sitting room. He was currently standing by the bay of windows watching the calm waters of Lake Washington and basking in the gentle warmth of the early morning sunlight as it shone into the room, refracting off the original gold-painted ceiling, giving the room an ethereal quality. Harry had to admit, he hadn't felt this content since Teddy's summer visit this past June, and couldn't help but smile at the thought of his son's and the rest of the family's reactions at seeing his new home.

The house was an original Victorian in the Seattle Queen Anne area, about a twenty-minute drive from Seattle Grace. The outside was a burnt salmon color with window accents in dark sage, with a few turrets, and a cedar shake roof. It's overall appearance was a perfect mix of both the Burrow and Hogwarts, the first two places he'd ever thought of as home, and he had fallen in love with the structure at first sight. So how could he have ever said no?

The house had three levels, six bedrooms, five and a half bathrooms, a formal sitting room, a more casual living room, formal dining room, and kitchen. The backyard consisted of a back patio with a hot tub, a lap pool, and even a cabana. There were also a few rooms in the basement that he was already making plans for, and all together it was perfect since he could already envision all the family get-togethers here, filling this house with boisterous laughter, and building countless memories. He could see it becoming a home.

His favorite room, though, was the master bedroom, which was coincidentally decorated in Slytherin green wallpaper with Gryffindor red window treatments, along with a sweeping view of the Lake and Cascades. Harry felt a combination of childish glee and humility at being greeted by the majestic view every morning. Because while it was stunning, it also served to remind him there was something greater at work out there, something which had existed for eons and would continue to do so long after the human race, and among all its splendor, he was just a small speck.

Instead of deterring him however, the prospective furthered his motivations to leave a lasting mark on this world, so when he finally reconnected with his ancestors in the afterlife, he could do so with the sense that he had made all their sacrifices worthwhile. He wanted to look at his parents, his grandparents, Sirius, Remus, the friends he lost through the course of both wars, and Fred in the eyes without an ounce of hesitation, and let them know with absolute confidence that he'd made something of the life they'd fought and died for.

A moaning yawn from the room's open-arched entrance shattered his contemplative tranquility, triggering an unbidden moment of uncertainty for him as it brought back to mind what he'd been trying to distract himself from, all morning. Pushing past his worry, he glanced back to see a sleepy Callie standing there with her hair resembling a bird's nest, and despite the conclusion of last evening, he couldn't entirely stop his admiring gaze from taking in her sleep tousled allure. Though he did try to be gentlemanly discrete about it, in respect of the hard work Andy and Alice had put into polishing up his manners, but Merlin, it was a difficult endeavor with how breathtaking an image the fiesty Latina presented.

"Looking good," he teased in good humor, giving her an exaggerated leer and not even trying to hide the sarcastic smirk supporting his lips. He hoped starting the morning with levity might help to stave off any lingering awkwardness, not that there should be a cause for any since they'd both come to the unanimous agreement to just remain friends. Still, events had been known to appear differently in the light of day.

"Jackass," she moaned, apparently still hungover, but otherwise not showing any outward signs of hesitation, much to Harry's pleasant relief. "Why did you let me do this to myself?"

Harry chuckled as he sauntered over to her to lean against the entrance.

Over the past week Callie and he had gotten on like a house on fire and were on their way to becoming great friends, and though they'd both felt the stirrings of mutual attraction from the get go, Harry had chosen to keep it strictly platonic. Harry lived by a code, which due to past experiences, luckily not his own, included never dating a subordinate. That way lay murky waters, and he liked to avoid drama whenever possible. He'd had enough of that growing up, thank you very much, and had no inclination to continue the rest of his life in a similar vein.

As Andromeda liked to tell him often, he had no patience or talent for social intricacies. Still, how to tell his long time social coach on everything Lordly and 'proper' and the beloved grandmother of his son, it wasn't his lack of talent, because he could if he wanted, so much as his refusal to waste his time on drama, when he had more productive ways to spend his time.

Yet Callie had blown in brazenly like a breath of fresh air, and despite his personal resolutions, he'd found himself being uncharacteristically drawn in. How could he not be, with how tempting he found the Latina? Callie was uniquely beautiful, carried herself with effortless confidence, and was as fiery as the deepest layer of Hell, everything he'd ever found attractive in a lover. He'd struggled with it for the past few days and had to make considerable use of his occlumency to refrain himself from acting on his interest, which had been going really well, until last night that is.

When Callie had discovered her fellow magical had moved into his new house, the woman had demanded to see it, decided he needed to have a housewarming party, and had invited herself over for a night of revelry. It had started with a tour of the house and the backyard, where she'd especially been impressed by the pool in the back and the shielded and reinforced dueling chamber with interactive Hitwizard training dummies. Upon her inquiry, he'd admitted that like Quidditch, he didn't get as much time to practice as he did during his time as an Auror and later a Hitwizard, but he liked to keep up his skills with a few intense sessions every other week or so.

His dueling skills may have been born from necessity, but they were something Harry had worked his ass off to develop and excel at. Much to his discomfort, they were revered by the majority of magical enclaves even thirteen years after his departure from Britain's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and continued to receive requests from various governments and schools around the world for him to give Defense Against the Dark Arts and dueling seminars. While he wasn't able to give his time to every invitation, he did do one or two a year, with his latest being with the Auror department in Washington DC, just four months ago.

Harry could proudly say, without the least bit of boasting of course, he was still able to kick all their asses into gear. At the very least, making use of his dueling chamber offered an excellent way to work off the tension which occurred with being a surgeon.

His calm professionalism at work on the other hand, was just that, professionalism. It was part and parcel of the customs and comportment teachings Harry had reluctantly submitted to, and which were beaten into his brain by Andromeda, who was later joined by Narcissa, after he took up the Potter and Black Lordships and became the patriarch of both families.

The sense of responsibility and level of professional conduct expected from a surgeon, especially one in a leadership role, however, had been learned at the hands of Ellis Grey. He may resent her for her behavior towards Mer, but he would never criticize her abilities as a brilliant surgeon and teacher, and he was truly honored to have learned from her.

It was a topic Callie had asked about afterward when they had finished the tour and settled themselves in front of the living room fireplace with a bottle of Firewhisky, commandeered from his bar by the Orthopedic resident.

They'd started with a relaxed sharing of their past escapades, covering their magical schooling, and their experiences with med schools and residencies, finding humor in each other's antics. Harry had nostalgically narrated a few of his more mundane adventures with Hermione and Ron, not delving into the darker side of their 'adventures' just yet. That led them into pointing out the blunders of some of the well known magical figures, especially in relation to their interactions with the mundane world. Prominently discussed was the Americans' impression of Dumbledore, which, while not too bad, was definitely less rose-colored as the British citizens', something which had originally surprised Harry when he'd first moved across the Pond, but had later come to agree with.

Callie had then followed that by drunkenly narrating the latest gossip around the hospital, much to his fond exasperation. As the night had worn on with the Firewhisky and laughter flowing freely, Harry had found himself entranced by her ease with herself, her complete abandon of inhibitions as she bared her past and her love for her family back in Florida. At one point, he had smiled at seeing her giggling drunkenly, watched the warm light of the fire dancing over her ebony curls. It enticed him to just give in and reach across the last few inches left between them from their bodies having slowly drawn closer through the evening, and thread his fingers into the wild strands.

The last of his hesitations had crumbled away when she'd gazed at him through her sooty lashes, and they allowed their lips to meet in a lazy and sensual kiss. Even though this moment had been building between them since their first meeting in 'the Pit', something felt distinctly off. Where the kiss had started off with passionate anticipation, it gradually started to become more mechanical the longer it went on until they finally pulled apart and looked at each other in confused contemplation.

"Hmm," Callie hummed while biting the inside of her lip, looking as if she was trying to figure out a problem. Harry had watched on in his own drunken confusion as Callie had pursed her pouty lips in distaste, and finally met his eyes, looking as if she had reached a conclusion. "This sucks!" Harry hadn't been able to help but let his head fall back onto the couch cushion, laughing at their absurd situation.

"How can you laugh? Do you know how long I've been looking forward to that?" she had whined in frustration before starting to whack Harry with a pillow when he just laughed harder. "Damn it, Harry! I am horny and angry and stop laughing, this is all your fault."

After pushing the pillow away, Harry had to use all his resolve to not break down again at her face resembling an angry chipmunk. He was pretty sure she would've pushed him out of his own window if he had.

"You think you're disappointed?" he had pointed out sarcastically as he'd glanced down at the situation in his pants, before sighing disheartenedly because honestly, it had been too many years since he'd last found himself drawn to another person enough to start a relationship with. Despite his original decision to avoid any romantic entanglements at work, he had found himself a little disappointed at the lack of physical chemistry between Callie and him.

"Urgggh, this is so unfair, you're hot, and I'm hot, and we're hot for each other, but where are the fireworks!" Her muffled voice came out from where she'd smashed her face into the pillow on the floor. He would have continued to watch on, except the incessant discomfort from down under had done a great job at sobering him up.

"Uh, I'm going to head upstairs, and uh, yeah." He hadn't even finished the sentence before her head had shot up from the pillow wearing a look of expectation.

"Ooh, can I watch," she'd impishly asked, forcing Harry to look at her in mock horror as he tried to figure out if she was teasing or, Merlin forbid, actually serious.

"No," he'd replied with a chuckle while mock-glaring at her insatiable antics. "But, you can have one of the bedrooms upstairs," he'd smirked down at her frowning expression, "and you know where the towels are, so I'll see you in the morning, Calliope," he'd lightly informed her before heading upstairs for the night and to, ahem, take care of his problem.

He shook himself out of his reminiscing to hear Callie amidst her ongoing mumbling rant about unfairness and something about good looking British bastards, at which Harry wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

"I see you didn't make it upstairs," he noted conversationally as he conjured her a cup of coffee with a twirling flair of his left hand, bringing her complaining to a stop.

"Wow!" She exclaimed, reaching out for the cup carefully to examine the feel of it and smell the authenticity of the coffee before taking a hesitant sip. "Oh," she breathed out her surprise before looking back at him, then lowered her gaze to his hand and whispered, "You can do wandless magic?" To this, Harry just gave her a mischievous tilt of his head before bringing his index finger to his lips.

Rapidly nodding her head at the motion, she quietly squealed, "That is so cool," reminding Harry of Teddy's awed reactions when he used to entertain his then baby godson with small flares of wandless magic. As reluctant as he was to push away this welcome distraction from last night's events, he had something he needed to say.

"Callie," he called out to gain her attention. "I don't believe in leaving things unsaid, and while yes, I'm disappointed things didn't work out as we'd hoped, I still think you're beautiful, funny, honest, and," he paused to look at her to make sure she understood his sincerity, "I would be honored to have someone like you as a friend." Having said his piece, he held his breath awaiting her response, because even if they couldn't be lovers, the vibrant and strong bonds between them told him he needed her in his life, even if just as a friend.

Her response, of course, was entirely Callie-esque in its level of sass. "You're not too shabby, Potter-Black. I think I'll keep you around, "and then with her eyes showing the warmth she must feel, she added, "you're good people Harry, so yeah, friends," and Harry didn't even have to think as he chuckled in relief at her childish response but nonetheless reached out to link his own pinkie with the one she held out towards him to seal the deal.

"Well, since we have that settled, I'm going to go use your master bathroom," she claimed abruptly.

"Why, what's wrong with the other bathrooms?" he asked confusedly.

"Uh, hello, have you seen the size of that beautiful shower? It's been calling out my name since it saw me," she said with lustful intensity and turned to head upstairs, leaving him to shake his head at her eccentric behavior.

Women sure were weird and scary, he thought as he started to make his way to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast, but went to open the door at hearing the doorbell.

"Adele?" He looked in surprise at Richard's lovely wife, standing on his doorstep with a covered dish in hand.

"Harrison! How are you, my dear boy?" she greeted with a genuinely large smile as she reached her arm out to accept his welcoming embrace.

"I've been great, Adele. Welcome to my new home," he said with a happy smile as he ushered her in and relieved her of the weighty dish.

"I have to say, your house is absolutely stunning," she exclaimed in awe, looking around the wooded foyer.

"I'll give you the full tour before you have to leave, but would you like to join me for breakfast?" he asked as he led her through the living and dining rooms on the way to the kitchen.

"Don't mind if I do, getting to have your cooking is always divine." She continued to glance appreciatively around the warm wooden kitchen and seated bar area with stained glass windows and wood-lined ceiling, which curved out like the inside of a vintage railcar.

They talked while he cooked, and he did get the expected demand to show up for dinner. He had just placed the platters on the bar counter, when he heard Callie around the corner, "Harry, I just realized I didn't bring any spare clothes, so could you shazam them for me real qu…, oh!" She stopped at the doorway in shock as she caught sight of Adele with just towels wrapped around both her hair and body.

The older woman eyed them, and after politely greeting Callie, admonished, "Harrison, you should have told me you had company," and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at her likely conclusion.

"This is not what it looks like, Adele," he explained, glaring at the smirking Webber, "and if you'll excuse us."

He quickly led the apologetically lip-biting Callie around the corner and cast a 'scourgify' to refresh her offered clothes, before allowing her to escape upstairs.

"My, my, you work quickly," the Chief's wife teased once Harry returned back to the kitchen. "Only here for a little under two weeks and…," she trailed off, allowing the obvious to go unsaid.

Taking a seat across the bar from her, he served her a plate, before starting on his own. "She works at the hospital, and we're just friends." He looked at her eyes in emphasis. "We sort of bonded over similar family backgrounds, and her family sort of knows of mine through the same circles," he clarified, taking a bite of his eggs. While he couldn't tell her about the magical aspect, he could allow her to believe it was because both families were affluent.

"Aah, so just friends," she said, pouting.

"Unfortunately," he responded, smiling at her. "You'll have to wait just a little longer I'm afraid."

She huffed, "You've been telling me that for over five years now, Harrison. You know Richard and I don't have children, so you need to give me some little ones, and I'm not getting any younger you know, so you better get a move on young man."

"Yes, ma'am." He agreed cheekily.

He looked towards the hallway as he felt Callie's magic and stood up just as she arrived. Motioning her over with a commiserating smile, he introduced, "Adele, this is Callie Torres. She's a fourth-year Orthopedic resident at SGH. Callie, this is Adele Webber, the Chief's wife."

They moved to greet each other, and thankfully by the end of breakfast, both women seemed to get along well.

Harry made sure to give Adele a quick tour of the house, which she adored, before Harry and Callie headed out for their shifts, and thanked her for baking him a treacle tart, promising again to come to dinner while they walked her out to her car.

Sitting in his car, he looked towards Callie, "Well, that was quite the introduction," only to receive a punch in the arm for his comment.

Derek's POV

"Good morning, Dr. Bailey," Derek greeted politely as he arrived beside her to wait for the crosswalk, taking a quick sip from his coffee cup to ward off the chill from the early morning Seattle air.

"Shut up, I know I've forgotten something, something is happening today, I know I should know what it is, but I just can't...," she trailed off absently, leaving him momentarily stunned at her abrupt response. She did realize he was her boss right? Then again, knowing Bailey, she probably didn't care. Choosing to take it in stride he opened his mouth only to be interrupted before he could reply.

"Hmm, someone's got claws," Derek twisted around to find Dr. Potter-Black had just joined them with a drink carrier in one hand and a paper bag in the other. "You should paint them, Bailey, as a warning for others," the young Trauma surgeon teased with an easy-going smile on his face, which soon morphed into a grin when Bailey shushed him.

"Did she just 'shush' me?" Potter-Black whispered in an aside to Derek.

"At least you weren't told to shut up," The Neurosurgeon whispered back, just as amused as the other man.

"Hmm." The younger attending looked consideringly at the resident. What is she doing exactly?"

Derek studied Bailey for a moment before giving the Brit a confused shrug. "Apparently trying to remember something that is supposed to happen today," he explained while eyeing the man's armload. "What's all that?"

Potter-Black lifted the items in his hands as if just remembering he had them and smiled. "Well, someone mentioned a shop around the corner with English-worthy tea, and I thought I'd grab the rest of the staff some goodies as a thank you for helping me integrate." Derek considered his fellow surgeon for a moment, astounded at his thoughtful gesture, and found himself returning the smile.

"That's nice of you," Derek complimented as he took a step onto the crosswalk, only for the Englishman to yank him back by his jacket with a loud, "Incoming!" The Neurosurgeon's heart paced rapidly at nearly colliding with the bike which had zoomed by.

Trying to calm his breathing he took note of Potter-Black directing Bailey safely behind the pole to avoid the oncoming horde of bikers. He positioned himself almost protectively in front of Bailey and Derek as the bikers swerved around them as if it was instinctual for him to do so. In Derek's experience, he'd only seen cops and firefighters respond like that.

"Now, I remember," Bailey muttered, grasping Potter-Black's arm in a tight grip as the group finally passed, "those damn idiots, every year they do this."

The Trauma surgeon chuckled as he picked up the bag from where he'd placed it by the flowerbeds, in one of the quickest responses Derek had ever seen, and grinned at Bailey as she swore.

"There, there, Bailey Bear." Much to Derek's amusement, she dropped the Trauma surgeon's arm as if burned and glared at the young man.

"No," she said simply, "Nu-uh." Derek brushed off imaginary dirt from his coat as he tried to swallow back his laughter and watched the scene unfold. The man must be fearless to poke the metaphorical hornet's nest, he thought shaking his head.

"No? Are you sure? Huh, I was sure you'd be partial to it," replied Potter-Black, drawing a quiet chuckle from Derek, which made him turn and smirk at the older man. "Alright there, Shepherd?"

"Yeah, thank you, Dr. Potter-Black," Derek responded after a quick clearing of his throat to pull back his composure.

"Harrison is fine, please. I know my last name can be a mouthful."

Derek almost responded he was pretty used to saying hyphenated last names, before he stopped himself, and said instead, "Harrison then, and call me Derek," before they all made their way towards the hospital.

Preston's POV

Preston stood along with Richard, and Shepherd looking over the OR scheduling board for the day.

"Excellent board. Well-timed, balanced, efficient. If all goes well, we'll have an early night," the Chief declared with satisfaction, and Preston silently nodded along with his assessment.

"Chief! Bailey asked me to remind you that the Dead Baby Bike Race started twenty minutes ago."

All three men turned towards the unmistakable English accent and saw the Trauma leader sauntering towards them, his hands busy tying a patterned navy scrub cap around his head.

Richard announced the Race to the general area with a look of frustration, making all the staff that had experience with the fallout from it, start into action. One of the nurses came and wiped the board clean, making it ready for the eventual emergency surgeries that resulted from the event, and Preston sighed at having to tell his patients their surgeries would be pushed back another day. So much for an organized day.

Is that… "Is that a Batman comic on your cap?"

The Brit chuckled and replied, "Yeah, it's a gift from my younger sister from when I was accepted into the residency program at Mayo Clinic."

"Preston? Since when did he become Preston?" asked the surprised Neurosurgeon, sounding, dare he say, a touch jealous at Preston and Harrison acting friendly towards one another. Was it bad that he was enjoying this?. Nope, not at all, he thought.

"Ever since I hijacked him to Joe's Bar for a few drinks," the annoying man grinned like he'd accomplished something to be proud of.

The C.T. surgeon, closed his eyes and shook his head at the ridiculous, cartoon scrub cap wearing surgeon's behavior.

"Burke," Preston turned his head to see Richard's eyes rounded in surprise as he looked between Harry and Burke. "I didn't know you were into ah…, Harry! That is my best C.T. surgeon!" The man sounded incredulous, but quickly amended with, "Ahem, yes, well, good luck out there in the trenches today." With that, Richard walked off.

Thoroughly confused, Preston asked, "What?"

Harrison, as the other had asked Preston to call him, tilted his head and peered directly at him with glee filled eyes and whispered, "He most likely thinks I have designs towards you."

Burke startled a little at the unexpected answer while Shepherd burst out in laughter.

"Don't worry, that wasn't my intention. At all," Harrison reassured.

"Wait, you're gay?" Shepherd asked, still trying to calm his laughter and coincidentally mirroring Preston's own thoughts.

Harrison grinned unapologetically, "Not exactly," winked at them and walked off, leaving Preston just a bit disconcerted.

What just happened? His mind screamed at him as Shepherd too sauntered off.

Meredith's POV

Mer was so excited she could hardly wait to dive into the bleeding pool of patients in 'the Pit'. To treat the onslaught of injuries which resulted every year from this 'idiotic race', Bailey had lead her group of interns down to the ER, and parted with a strict warning to not mingle with the ER interns, who apparently, "don't know their asses from their esophagi."

"Though, Dr. Potter-Black has been working with them to improve," she'd added reluctantly.

She'd instructed them to sew fast, discharge fast, and take bodies up to the OR, yesterday. Her final warning, accompanied by her 'Nazi glare' was not to fight over patients, of course that had flown out the window the minute the resident turned her back, and the interns had run and jostled for positions.

"Oh, it's like candy, but with blood, which is so much better," exclaimed Cristina, and while Mer would have never phrased it that fervently, she had to agree.

"Oh my god…" gasped Izzie, spotting a patient.

"Mine!" yelled Cristina.

"I saw him first!" Izzie responded, and with that, both women had raced off to grab the dire looking patient.

Mer and Alex had spotted a man with bicycle spokes pin-cushioning one side of his abdomen and rushed to claim him, and after five minutes of bickering like children, Mer didn't know why she allowed him to pull her down to his level, on who got the patient, they reached a conclusion.

Well, maybe not so much of a conclusion, Mer thought in disgusted frustration as she watched Alex, being his usual 'ass' self, impatiently rip the spokes right out of the patient without any preliminary tests or scans, and leave while claiming the case wasn't surgical.

That man really was infuriating and an undeniable ass, Mer thought as she glared at his retreating back, and lamented being cheated out of a surgery, while the others most likely found surgical cases.

Even George was busy upstairs being the right hand for Dr. Webber. She hadn't volunteered for said position when Bailey had asked because there was just something that niggled at her about the Chief of Surgery. She thought she remembered something about him, but could never recall the exact details.

Mer went back to sewing up the delinquent race participant, Viper's, perforations while he flirted with her nonstop. Despite her disgruntled thoughts, she couldn't help being exasperatedly charmed by this 'player', as he called himself, because apparently, she was a 'rocking babe'. However, he was being difficult. No matter how much she advised him to complete some tests and scans to ascertain he'd be okay, he wanted to get out of here and get back to the race.

She watched on as he signed the required AMA form and was completely taken aback when he grabbed her and kissed her quite thoroughly before leaving.

Mer shook her head after him, dismissing him from her thoughts. He was without question an impulsive thrill-seeker, hence the race, and probably loved the challenge of propositioning a doctor. She started to strip the sheet but caught sight of Derek, who was standing in the hallway giving her an assessing look through the window.

"You make out with patients now?" he asked, closing the door as he entered.

"What are you, jealous?" she shot back.

"I don't get jealous," he said confidently.

"We had sex, once," she firmly stated as if defining their entire relationship to him.

"And we kissed, in an elevator," he said, getting technical.

"And we kissed in an elevator, once!" She conceded.

"No, seriously, I mean, come on, go out with me." And now we get to the point.

"No."

"You know, I almost died today. Yeah, I came like," Derek gestured with a pinching motion, "this close. How would you feel if I died, and you didn't get a chance to go out with me?" Now he's trying the sympathy route, with a touch of narcissism?

"Get over yourself already."

"Come on," he whiningly pleaded, but then thinking about her patient just now, she came to a sudden realization.

"It's the chase, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked confusedly.

"The thrill of the chase." Everything seemed so clear now. "I've been wondering to myself, why are you so hell-bent on getting me to go out with you? You know you're my boss," she pointed out, "you know it's against the rules, you know I keep saying no. It's the chase."

"Well, it's fun, isn't it?" he asked charmingly.

"You see? This is a game for you. But not to me. Because unlike you, I still have something to prove." She stated with finality before she stormed out. She was so done with this, she huffed. Maybe Harry was onto something with the whole, 'not getting into anything with a coworker'. Well, whatever it was, she was putting her foot down. Her foot was so down, it was indenting the ground.

George's POV

"What're you doing?" George looked up at hearing Alex's question, and saw the other intern bent over the counter to write something on his clipboard.

"Hiding. There's this VIP patient, he likes me," George admitted. He had initially volunteered to be the Chief's right-hand man, thinking he'd get to do something important, but instead, he'd been tasked to cater to Dr. Webber's 'dear old friend' who'd been diagnosed with liver cancer. While he was a really nice man, George was pretty sure he was hitting on him.

"Well, that's good, right?" asked Alex, clearly not seeing the problem.

"He likes me, likes me." George rephrased, putting some emphasis in it.

"Go for it, man, get yours. I'm down with the rainbow." Alex encouraged indifferently before he noticed George looking at him wide eyed and asked, "Oh. Are you not gay?"

"No!" George shot back incredulously, completely gobsmacked at the impression the other man had of him..

"Really?" Alex asked bemused. "Dude, sorry," he added before leaving just as Izzie and Cristina came up to the counter.

"Cristina?" George lifted a floppy disk in the Asian intern's direction, using it as a lure as if it was something she needed, but dropped it the second she came over.

"Do you - do you think - does Meredith think I'm gay?" he asked desperately. He really liked Meredith, and while his brain kept telling him he didn't have a shot, his heart just wouldn't stop hoping. Maybe this was why the svelte woman hadn't been receptive to his invitations at furthering their friendship into something more, he thought with renewed hope.

"Are you?" She too asked impassively, like Alex.

"No," he yelled in exasperation, starting to get tired of having to clarify something so obvious.

"Really?" she asked, and he hated how surprised she sounded.

Getting tired of this, he asked, "So what have you both been working on? Got a good case?"

Looking a bit peeved, she explained, "Izzie and I got a John Doe that came in with a GCS of 3. Shepherd and Burke assessed him as brain dead but had us run confirmation tests and told us to wait the allotted six hours before declaring him, but damn it, I was really looking forward to surgery. So of course I asked Bailey if we would do a harvest surgery on him if we could get his family's approval, but Dr. Izzie, here," she shot a scathing look towards their light-blonde teammate, only to get a 'Hey!', "wants to 'save' him, even though he's seriously brain dead."

"So we're trying to identify him, by the hotel key card he had on him, to get his family to sign off on the harvest," she narrated without an ounce of sensitivity, but George really didn't know why he continued to be surprised by her lack of empathy for others.

"No. We need to find his family so they can be with him. He's someone's loved one, he deserves to be surrounded by people that care about him," interjected the much more sensitive, Izzie.

Suddenly enthused at the metaphorical gift that just fell in his lap, he asked, "You have a potential donor?" and seeing Cristina nod, "What's his blood type?"

"Uh, O-neg," she said before leaving after Izzie. George hurriedly grabbed his VIP patient's chart to double-check his blood type and started to make plans for the battery of tests Lloyd Mackie would need to prepare for a liver transplant. After all, the man deserved to live even if the much older man had a habit of hitting on him.

Izzie's POV

Izzie looked at her John Doe and spoke to him with an encouraging tone.

"Okay, well, I know you probably can't hear me, and you're feeling this big push to go towards the light, where everything is all halos and all-you-can-eat buffets and stuff, and I mean, sharing your organs is really great and all, but I think you have a family. I can feel it. So I think it'd be great if you could do me a favor, and get better. Just ...live. So you think you could give that a shot for me?"

Izzie's little motivational speech was suddenly interrupted by an alarm going off, as the patient began to crash, and his pulse dropped. Izzie started to panic. This couldn't be happening, he still had half an hour to make a recovery. His family still hadn't gotten to see him.

She couldn't handle this right now, and yelled for Meredith as she saw her passing by the window, and moved over to check the drip console.

When the other intern ran in, she explained unnecessarily, "He's crashing."

"Well, what the hell are you doing, call code!" The dark-blonde advised.

"I can't, I'm not supposed to, he's brain dead." Izzie moved around, trying to help the patient desperately.

"Well Izzie, if he's brain dead, you have to let him go," said Meredith more calmly now, and Izzie felt her frustration rise at the other's lack of help.

"No. It's only been five hours and thirty-three minutes, he's supposed to get six hours," she stated firmly, hoping for the slender intern to understand.

"Well, we can't do anything to make him live, it's not our place to make that call."

"He's a person, we're doctors, we should have every right to make that call. We can't just stand here and do nothing while he dies. He has a right to the next twenty-seven minutes." Izzie expressed passionately. How can Meredith not see this is our duty as doctors. We should do everything in our power to save lives. Every life should matter; why can't she see that.

Finally, seeing the desperate plea in her eyes, Meredith said, "Screw it. I'll get the dopamine, you get the blood, we'll transfuse him." Izzie breathed in relief.

After the successful transfusion, Izzie and Meredith ran into Cristina in the stairwell.

"I had a radiologist look at his chest, and apparently, he has a traumatic aortic injury. He's going to rupture and bleed out."

Cristina's news, while bad, gave Izzie hope, "So he needs surgery."

"If he's going to remain a viable organ donor, yeah." Why can't Cristina ever care about the patients, instead of chasing after the biggest surgery? It's supposed to be about the patients.

"If he's going to live." She corrected the Asian woman.

"Izzie…"

"No! I'm not giving up on him. He has the surgery, he lives longer, that's the point. So I'm going to help find the family, you guys find a way to get him into surgery," and after that decisive comment, she continued up the stairs.

Miranda's POV

Miranda was exhausted, she'd been running around all day in the ER going from one patch-up job to the next. Working at her fastest pace to get through as many injuries as possible. She'd just gotten out of an intensive surgery, and learned what her interns had been up to, and she just needed to get away from their frustrating antics.

She looked around the courtyard patio for a place to sit and take a moment to drink her coffee when she spotted Dr. Potter-Black at a table in the back having lunch.

"Hey Bailey Be…," the fool stopped at her glare, though she had to admit that it did make her tired heart smile a little.

"Don't finish that thought." She took a seat across from him, allowing the chair to take away most of her fatigue.

"What weighs so heavily on your shoulders, and don't say nothing, or that everything's fine."

His comment gave her pause. Miranda was used to taking care of herself. She'd been the only female in her intern group and had to work three times as hard as the others to stand out among her peers. She'd been quiet but had to become more ambitious, smarter, more intimidating, and no-nonsense to stay ahead and had won the first solo surgery out of her group. That had been how she'd earned her moniker of 'The Nazi.' She'd become satisfied with her place in life, or at least she had been until she took on her interns. Her pain in the ass interns. She hated relying on someone else's help, but she was also smart enough to know when she needed it. So hoping to gain some advice from a superior who she'd barely known for two weeks, but for some reason, trusted to be objective, she poured it out.

"My interns," she explained, allowing the ridge of her brow to fall into her palm.

"What have they done now, hmm?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Remember the John Doe brought in? GCS of 3?" She asked with a deep sigh. "Well, Cristina and Izzie were assigned to him, and they were supposed to perform confirmation tests to ascertain his' brain dead' status under Shepherd and Burke's authorities. They did that, except Cristina brought up wanting to do a harvest surgery on him."

She noticed the young department Head close his eyes and sigh and understood his feelings. "A little callous, perhaps, but so far, I don't see a problem."

"Oh trust me, it gets so much better," she said sarcastically. She proceeded to inform the surgeon about Cristina asking her permission for the harvest, Izzie and Meredith performing a transfusion on the John Doe when he crashed, and their going over Burke's head to the Chief when he refused to fix the patient's aortic injury. Coupled with the Chief's VIP patient being at the top of UNOS's list for a new liver, it ended with the patient being identified and the arrival of his wife and young son." She sighed on finishing but another thought came to her.

"Since she's been so zealous about this, I'm going to let Cristina take the lead on gaining consent for the organ harvest surgery and go through facing a grieving family," she said, hoping to teach the intern a lesson in empathy.

She looked up at the man to see him sitting quietly with his eyes closed, brow furrowed in deep thought. "What's your plan of action?"

"What else, I'm going to let them have a piece of my mind about giving me constant headaches," she said in determination.

"That's all?" he asked, finally opening his eyes and surprising her at the censure she saw there.

Feeling off-balanced at his disapproval, something she hadn't had to face often from a superior, she said, "I don't understand, what would you do in my place."

"It's not my decision you need, Dr. Bailey, it's your own." He must have seen her confusion because he leaned forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers together, he went on, "What are you to them?"

She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but something told her it was necessary, and she started to feel relieved that she approached him. "I'm their supervisor, their teacher."

He nodded at her answer. "What do you hope to teach them? What legacy do you hope to pass onto them?"

The question shocked her. She'd never really put any thought into the matter. She'd just been assigned a group of interns and told they were her responsibility now, and thus far, she's been going through the same motions with them as the ones she'd been put through during her own intern year. However, after giving his question the full consideration it deserved, she replied, "I want them to be competent, to learn how to behave with patients and their family members, to teach them to see their patients as people and not just cases."

"How well do you think you're doing at teaching them?"

"Good, I guess," she said, but found herself surprised she didn't feel as confident as she would've thought. "I don't know."

"Do you evaluate how they completed their assigned tasks?" Once again, she was taken aback by one of his questions.

"You mean, do I find out if they completed their tasks?" only to receive a blasé look that seemed to say 'you know exactly what I mean.'

"No. Just that they completed their tasks." She said, feeling a little ashamed at having to admit her realization.

"I can't tell you what sort of teacher to be to your interns, but my first piece of advice is to stop feeling sorry for yourself." That startled her into raising her head to look at him. "You might be a senior resident, but you are still learning about your field and the kind of surgeon and mentor you want to be. You have the right to make mistakes, as long as you follow through with your responsibility to improve upon them." His first finger was soon joined by another.

"Second, start evaluating how they go about completing your tasks. I'm sure you know as well as I, the nurses and techs on the floor are some of the most observant and biggest gossips. Utilize them as a resource to gather information about your interns, and use it to not just provide feedback to them so they know what to improve on, but more importantly to make them aware that their mistakes, behaviors, and the medical decisions they make are being monitored.

Having been a mentor to my own team of interns and residents, I've realized the effectiveness of allowing your pupils the opportunity to improve while impressing that there will be consequences for any mistakes or unruly behavior. Third, always keep in mind, not all students are created equal, so it's your responsibility as their mentor to know their different personalities so you can alter your method to best fit their needs."

Miranda hated to ask, but so far, the things he'd pointed out were profoundly eye-opening for her. The more he spoke, the more she relaxed. She hadn't felt like this since she'd first started here, and Dr. Webber had taken her under his wing. While this man in front of her may be younger than the majority of surgeons in his position, she couldn't forget the depth and breadth of experience he brought to the table. So swallowing her prideful hesitation, she asked for some examples.

"Well, from the little I've interacted with each of your interns, George has self-confidence issues and compares himself to the others too much. He might not stand out from the rest in his group as he doesn't come across as naturally talented as Cristina or Meredith, but he has the best work ethic of them all. He is evenly balanced in his professionalism and his bedside manner. He's easily reachable and dependable. He respects his superiors and consults their opinions instead of being a cowboy, yet isn't afraid to stand his ground with the others' overbearing personalities. Allow him the sole opportunities away from the other interns, so he can grow into himself. Give him positive feedback when he does well because he often displays signs of being the odd one out of a family, always having to prove himself without much encouragement."

Miranda found herself impressed. She'd been around George longer than Dr. Potter-Black, and even she hadn't noticed most of these qualities about the shyer of her male interns and started to think about her other interns, breathing in relief as the Trauma attending chose to continue on his analysis of her unruly group.

"Alex likes to play the tough cowboy, but I think that might stem from earlier life experiences where he had to play the tough and confident role to get by. Like George, give him positive feedback when he does well, but show him you see past his front, or as they like to say it here, his BS. He'll mellow out soon enough."

"Izzie…," she whispered, thinking about her most sensitive intern, but his next comment made her nervous about what his insight might reveal about the light-blonde woman.

"I'm leaving Izzie for last, for a reason. Now Meredith is gifted and has great intuition when it comes to medicine, but as the case with the transfusion showed, she can be led to ignore it to help a friend or colleague. Also, she still has a lot to learn about dealing with a larger range of emotions when it comes to dealing with patients and their families. Luckily, she tends to be open to constructive criticism and is always willing to learn. You need to be firm in reprimanding her in cases such as these. While helping someone is well and good, she needs to stand by her instincts, or one day, she might find her career and license in jeopardy."

Miranda was starting to fear about the two remaining interns, and what the Trauma Head had laid out for her, painted a troubling picture. Fortunately, the issues were still mild and mendable, which meant she needed to become a more proactive mentor. She looked at him looking at her, giving herself time to process everything he'd just dumped on her. After a moment, she gestured with an upraised hand, for him to continue.

"Your two toughest mentees will be Cristina and Izzie, both are amazingly similar but at different ends of the spectrum," he stated, taking a sip of his tea and pushing half of his sandwich towards her. She opened her mouth to refuse, but he interrupted in a solid tone tempered by an encouraging smile. "You need more than coffee to keep you running, Miranda. You, your patients, and your interns deserve you in your top form."

She gave the sandwich a thoughtful look. He just had to bring in her patients and interns, didn't he, now she had to eat it. With a quick, "Thank you," she took a bite and good Lord!

She watched as he directed a knowing smile at her while taking another casual sip of his tea. Finishing her bite, she asked, "What's in here? This is a-ma-zing," before she dug into another bite.

"Some whole wheat, with crushed avocados and kale pesto, melted cheese blend, natural turkey, with garlic tomatoes, and a bit of crispy bacon bits. You like?"

"Love it. Where did you find this?" and when all Miranda got was a vague shrug, she wondered. "You made this?" she got a nod, "Yourself?" another nod, "This is much more impressive than your journal articles." That got her a deep-throated laugh. He really is a beautiful man, when he's laughing like that, she thought.

While this moment of distraction was much appreciated, she wanted to get the rest of his analysis. She only had a few more minutes of break time left.

"Cristina and Izzie?" she initiated.

"Yes, ahem, they are similar, but where Cristina is all logic, Izzie is all emotion." Nothing I don't already know, she thought.

"I believe they need the most one-on-one mentoring and active counseling on improving their critical thinking skills. Both get extreme tunnel vision, and where Cristina solely sees the procedure, Izzie only sees the patient's survival. The problem isn't just with their behaviors, but with their natural thought processes, and Miranda, truthfully speaking, it might one day come back to bite all of us in the arse. The way they're going right now, Cristina will use any means necessary to see success, whether its underhanded tactics, going over a superior's head, or manipulation. Izzie, from her actions with her John Doe, shows a dangerous level of empathy. She will forgo everything she has been taught, all logic, every order from her superiors, just to see the outcome which she believes is the right one."

He sighed and looked away in evident agitation of the possible consequences that might result if Izzie and Cristina weren't kept in check.

"I should place them in active counseling so they can process their decisions and the possible repercussions that might result for the patient, their families, their mentors, and the hospital."

Miranda received a nod at her definitive statement. "I think their strengths will present the biggest hurdles. Cristina has the education, the brilliance, and the talent to back up her confidence to the point that anything which is not a straightforward conclusion seems illogical in her mind. Izzie's ability to empathize has the potential of becoming so intrusive, she might rationalize all her illogical decisions, and people with her way of thinking have a tendency to disregard the logic others correct them with."

Miranda was a strong and capable woman, but the thought of correcting so much before it devolved made her want to run away, and as if he understood exactly what she was thinking, he placed his hand on, palm up, beside hers in a silent offer of support. After an uncertain look at him, she hooked her fingertips around his, using it to anchor herself against her turbulent thoughts.

"If I may offer some personal advice?" At receiving her puzzled look, he said, "When I was a teenager, I had an entire world's expectations riding on my shoulders. I used to think if both others and I expected myself to stand up to these expectations, then there was no other option than for me to be strong enough to meet them, and if I didn't it was my own personal failure. It was all on me."

Miranda became absorbed into his narrative, though she was slightly confused why a child would have so much responsibility pushed upon him.

"It took years of therapy, numerous interventions from friends, and the ones I call family to come to the realization it takes a strong man or woman to admit they need help. It takes an even stronger and more confident human being to place the task above their own insecurities."

"Did it turn out, okay?" She needed to see if following a similar path would lead to a positive change with her current situation.

With an upturn of his mouth that showed both nostalgia and contentment, he admitted, "Every day. Every single time I choose to admit I need help, it turns out for the better. Presently, I want to ask the Chief for a personal and highly qualified administrative assistant who can help me in leading my departments. Sure, momentarily it might make me seem weak to the other Heads who manage to run their departments on their own, but…," he took a casual look around, leaned closer as if to tell a secret, and said, "I bet their departments aren't running as smoothly, as problem-free, or just as efficiently, as they would if they had the additional help. At the end of the day, Miranda, you have to decide if you'd rather save face and continue with the status quo, or rise above it, and complete your task better than anyone ever imagined."

His words held so much inspiration and fire, Miranda thought she could take on anything at the moment.

"I should probably talk to the Chief, then," she said coming to a decision.

"That would be a great start. Get Shepherd and Burke involved if needed, to highlight the interns' unruly behavior, lay out all the facts, provide a recommended plan of action, ask for any help needed." He finished conclusively, as he stood, giving her an arched look.

"What, now?" She said in surprise and not a little bit of panic as she got up as well.

"Any reason to put it off?," he asked.

"Well no, not really," she relented, as he started to walk away, giving her no chance to talk herself out of it. So, she followed.

CHAPTER END

9305 Words, Updated Mar. 28, 2020