A Wild Card

Dr. Richard Webber POV:

Richard Webber stared at the CV on his desk, the papers feeling heavier than they should. Normally, reviewing a candidate's qualifications was routine. Necessary, but boring. But this one? This one had him leaning back in his chair and raising his eyebrows more than once.

Dr. James Knight. Triple board-certified by thirty-two. Trauma Surgery, Emergency Medicine, Cardiothoracic Surgery. Columbia University by nineteen, Harvard Medical School by twenty-three. Then, for reasons Richard still couldn't quite wrap his head around, the man had enlisted in the Army and ended up in Special Operations Command.

Who the hell does that?

"Impressive," he muttered to himself, tapping the papers with his pen.

"You've had quite a career so far," he started. "Graduated from Columbia at nineteen, Harvard Medical by twenty-three, and a triple board certification before most people even finish their first one."

Richard skimmed down the next section. "And after all that, you decided to join the Army. Special Operations Command, no less. Spent years as a combat surgeon." He leaned back, fixing Jamie with a steady look. "That's not the usual path for someone with your qualifications."

"No, it's not," Jamie admitted. His tone was calm, measured. "But I felt it was the right choice at the time."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "And now you're here, looking for a position at Seattle Grace. A hospital known for its chaos, by the way." He set the papers down and folded his hands on the desk. "So tell me, Dr. Knight—why leave that life behind?"

There it was. The big question. Richard had seen candidates stumble over it before, but Jamie didn't so much as blink.

"I've seen enough chaos," Jamie said, his voice quiet but firm. "The battlefield taught me a lot—how to think fast, adapt, innovate. But after years of that... I'm ready to focus on the medicine. To be part of a team again, not just a warzone."

Richard studied him carefully. The man sounded sincere, but sincerity didn't mean much if the baggage weighed too heavily. And Richard had seen enough veterans come through these halls to know that the past wasn't something you just walked away from.

"Let me be frank," Richard said, leaning forward slightly. "I'm not doubting your skill. That's obvious. But war changes people. You're not the first veteran to come through these doors, and I've seen what PTSD can do to a surgeon. So my question is this: are you ready for the kind of pressure we handle here, day in and day out?"

Jamie met his gaze. There wasn't a flicker of hesitation. "I've had time to process what I've been through. I know my limits, and I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't believe I was capable of handling this job."

Richard tilted his head slightly, watching for cracks in the calm. But there weren't any.

"Alright," Richard said, standing and extending a hand. "Welcome to Seattle Grace, Dr. Knight. Let's see what you've got."

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Jamie's POV:

Jamie shook Dr. Webber's hand firmly, nodding before stepping out of the office. The door clicked shut behind him. He continiued to walk down mezzanine, a platform overlooking the bustling hospital entrance below.

From here, he could see everything—the rushing patients, families clustered anxiously in waiting areas, and the steady flow of people moving in and out of the hospital. Behind him, the massive glass front of the building reflected the overcast Seattle sky, the rain streaking down like faint veins across the surface.

He rested his hands on the railing, taking in the view below.

Jamie sighed, leaning his weight into his hands. This is it. New city, new hospital. A clean slate. He had told himself that over and over since stepping off the plane. But no matter how far he ran, the memories still followed. Faces of patients who didn't make it. The screams of soldiers he couldn't save. The sound of the helicopter blades, always looming.

He pushed the thoughts aside and straightened, inhaling deeply. He had survived worse than this—war zones, firefights, surgeries performed with nothing but a headlamp and sheer will.

With that thought, Jamie turned and made his way to the exit. The chill of the Pacific Northwest hit him the moment he stepped outside. He descended the stairs to the parking lot, his shoes clicking against the pavement as he pulled the key fob from his pocket.

A sharp beep cut through the drizzle, and the lights of his Aston Martin Vantage flashed in response. The sleek black car sat like a panther among the sedans and SUVs scattered around the lot. Jamie traced a hand along the hood, appreciating the smooth curve of the metal. After years of blood and sand, he'd allowed himself this one indulgence. A reminder that he'd earned something more than survival.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Jamie gripped the leather wheel, his eyes lingering on the hospital's glass facade in his rearview mirror. He had said all the right things to Dr. Webber, and he meant every word. But deep down, he wondered if this new chapter could truly be the fresh start he needed—or if he was just trading one battlefield for another.

Jamie slid into the driver's seat, gripping the leather wheel as he stared at the hospital's glass facade in the rearview mirror. He inserted the key into the ignition, but before he could start the engine, his phone buzzed in the cupholder. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Grandma Knight.

"Oh, Jamie, there you are," her warm voice came through, tinged with the slight lilt of old money elegance but softened by years of affection. "I thought I might catch you after your interview. How did it go, dear?"

Jamie leaned back in his seat, his head resting briefly against the headrest. "It went well," he said, his voice even. "Dr. Webber offered me the job."

"Of course he did!" she said, her tone triumphant, as though she had never doubted it for a second. "They'd be fools not to. But tell me, how does it feel? Seattle? The hospital?"

Jamie glanced out at the rain streaking down the windshield. "It's... different," he admitted. "Busy, but not in the same way New York was. It's hard to explain."

"Different isn't bad," his grandmother replied gently. "Sometimes it's exactly what we need. You've been through so much, Jamie. A change of pace might be good for you."

He smiled faintly. Her voice always had a way of cutting through the noise in his head. "I know, Grandma. That's why I came here."

There was a pause on the other end, and then her voice softened even further. "Your grandfather would be proud, you know. And your mother... Oh, she'd be over the moon."

Jamie closed his eyes, the familiar ache stirring in his chest. "I hope so," he said quietly.

"She would," she insisted. "And remember, Jamie, it's okay to let yourself slow down sometimes. You don't have to carry the whole world on your shoulders."

He let her words settle, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "I'll try."

"You'd better," she said, her tone playful now. "You've got a lot of people rooting for you, including an old lady with too much time on her hands. Come by for dinner soon, will you? I'll make that roast you like."

Jamie chuckled softly. "I will. Thanks, Grandma."

"Good. Now go get settled in. And Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, dear. Don't forget that."

"I love you too, Grandma," he said, his voice low but sincere.

As the call ended, Jamie set the phone back in the cupholder and sat in silence for a moment, the warmth of her words lingering. Then he turned the key, the engine roaring to life.

Jamie eased the Aston Martin out of the hospital parking lot, the engine purring beneath him as he merged onto the rain-slick streets of Seattle. The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a kaleidoscope of colors that blurred slightly as the rain continued to fall. His grip on the wheel was light but controlled, his eyes scanning the road ahead while his thoughts wandered.

The warmth of his grandmother's voice still lingered in his chest, grounding him in a way little else could. She had always been his anchor, the one constant in a life full of upheaval. Her unwavering support was why he'd come to Seattle in the first place—to be close to family. To start over.

As he pulled up to the sleek, modern building that housed his penthouse, the valet approached with an umbrella in hand. Jamie stepped out of the car, nodding a polite thanks as the young man took the keys and disappeared into the garage.

The entrance to the building was all glass and steel, with soft ambient lighting that gave it an air of understated luxury. Jamie swiped his keycard and stepped into the private elevator, watching the numbers climb as he leaned against the mirrored wall.

When the doors opened to his floor, he stepped into the quiet space of his penthouse. The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating the clean lines and modern elegance of his home. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, offering a panoramic view of Seattle's skyline, with the Space Needle glowing faintly in the distance.

Jamie slipped off his shoes and set his keys on the sleek marble counter in the kitchen. The rain tapped gently against the windows, a soothing rhythm that filled the otherwise silent room.

He walked over to the windows, his reflection staring back at him as he looked out at the city below. It was beautiful, in its own way. Different from New York, where the skyline felt crowded and overwhelming. Seattle's was quieter, more subdued, but no less alive.

Jamie exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders relax for the first time that day. He'd done it. The first step was behind him. A new city, a new hospital, a new life. But even as the thought settled, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the hardest part was still ahead.

Tomorrow, he would walk into Seattle Grace as an attending surgeon. He would meet his new colleagues, learn the dynamics of the team, and start proving himself all over again.

Jamie walked into the living room, the soft sound of rain against the windows filling the quiet space. His gaze landed on the piano tucked neatly against the far wall, a sleek black grand that seemed almost untouched amidst the modern decor. It wasn't for show, though. The piano was the one thing he'd taken with him from New York, a connection to his mother and the quiet moments they used to share.

He crossed the room and sat down on the bench, his fingers hovering over the keys. For a moment, he just stared at them, his reflection faintly visible in the glossy black surface. Then, as if guided by muscle memory, his hands moved into position, and the first notes of "Nuvole Bianche" drifted into the air.

Jamie closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him. It was a piece his mother used to play, one she had taught him when he was young. Back then, it had felt like a challenge, a test of precision and patience. Now, it was like a conversation—one-sided, but comforting all the same.

As the notes filled the room, Jamie's mind wandered. He thought of New York, of long nights in the hospital, of the chaos he had left behind. He thought of his father, the towering hero who had been taken too soon. He thought of his mother, the surgeon who had instilled in him the love for medicine and the resilience to keep going, even when the odds were stacked against him. The rain outside seemed to quiet as the song reached its crescendo, as if the world itself was pausing to listen. Jamie exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing with each passing measure. This was his moment of clarity, his way of grounding himself when everything felt too heavy. The battlefield, the hospital, the memories—they all felt distant here, reduced to whispers in the background of the music.

As the final notes hung in the air, Jamie let his hands rest on the keys. The silence that followed felt heavier than the song itself, but it wasn't unwelcome. It was a silence that held space for everything he couldn't say, everything he didn't have the words to express.

He stood, running a hand lightly along the edge of the piano before turning away.

Jamie stood from the piano bench, the haunting echoes of "Nuvole Bianche" still drifting in his mind as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom. The upper floor of the penthouse was as sleek and modern as the rest of the apartment—minimalist, with sharp lines and warm tones that gave the space an understated elegance.

He reached into his closet, pulling out a duffel bag already packed with his gym essentials. Tossing it over his shoulder, he headed back downstairs, his thoughts already shifting to the rhythm of the workout ahead.

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The steady hum of the treadmill filled the gym as Jamie pushed himself through the last stretch of his run. Sweat dripped from his brow, his shirt clinging to his back as the miles ticked by on the display. After the treadmill came the weights, and then the punching bag—a few well-aimed strikes that left his arms burning and his heart pounding.

The workout was routine, almost automatic, but it grounded him. It was one of the few constants he had relied on over the years. By the time he was done, his muscles ached in a way that felt satisfying. Controlled pain. Predictable pain. The kind he could manage.

Afterward, he hit the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him, rinsing away the sweat and the lingering tension. He dressed in comfortable clothes—sweats and a t-shirt—before heading home.

Lunch was simple but hearty: grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and rice. Jamie ate quietly, the soft patter of rain outside his windows a calming backdrop.

When the plate was empty, he washed up and padded back upstairs to his bedroom. The morning had been long, and the workout had drained what energy remained. He lay down on the bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief against his tired body.

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Flashback 2: First Solo Surgery (New York, Residency)

Jamie stood in the OR, his gloved hands steady as he held the scalpel. The overhead surgical lights bathed the room in stark white, reflecting off the sterile drapes that framed the patient's open chest. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors filled the air, steady and controlled, marking each heartbeat of the man lying on the table.

It was his first solo coronary artery bypass graft (CABG). Technically, it was straightforward—a single-vessel bypass to address a blockage in the left anterior descending (LAD) artery. The attending surgeon, Dr. Howard, stood at the corner of the room.

Jamie inhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on the patient's exposed heart, the steady rise and fall of the lungs controlled by the ventilator. He had done this in simulations countless times, assisted in dozens of cases, but this was different. This was his patient, his hands, his responsibility.

"Alright, Knight," Dr. Howard said, his voice calm but firm. "First step. Identify the internal mammary artery for the graft."

Jamie nodded. "Right. Left internal mammary artery," he murmured to himself, his voice steady but quiet. His eyes traced the anatomy, locating the artery running along the chest wall beneath the rib cage. With careful precision, he used the scalpel to expose the artery, isolating it from the surrounding tissue.

"Careful," Dr. Howard said. "You don't want to damage the artery. Take your time."

Jamie worked methodically, using a small pair of scissors to free the artery, ensuring the surrounding tissue remained intact. Once the artery was fully mobilized, he clamped it off temporarily to prepare for the graft.

"Good," Dr. Howard said, his tone even. "Now move to the sternum. Time to get the heart ready."

Jamie set down the scalpel and picked up the oscillating saw. The room fell silent except for the hum of the machine as he made the median sternotomy, carefully dividing the sternum down the midline. The sound of the saw cutting through bone filled the room, but Jamie kept his focus, ensuring a clean and precise cut.

With the sternum opened, the surgical assistant stepped in to place the retractor, spreading the chest cavity to expose the heart fully. Jamie paused for a moment, his eyes on the beating organ in front of him. This was the first time he had seen the heart in his hands, not as a student or an assistant, but as the primary surgeon.

"Focus," Dr. Howard reminded him gently. "You've got this."

Jamie nodded, picking up the next instrument. "We're going on pump," he said, his voice firmer now. The perfusionist confirmed, and within moments, the heart was bypassed, with blood flow redirected to the heart-lung machine. The heart stopped beating, silent and still, giving Jamie the window he needed to work.

"Time to locate the LAD," Dr. Howard said, stepping closer now. "Careful dissection."

Jamie carefully used forceps and a scalpel to expose the left anterior descending artery, the site of the blockage. Once the artery was exposed, he examined the calcified plaque that had caused the stenosis.

"Looks good," Dr. Howard said. "Now make your arteriotomy."

Using a fine scalpel, Jamie made a small incision in the LAD, just distal to the blockage. The edges of the artery were held open with micro hooks, and Jamie adjusted his position slightly, ensuring he had a clear view of the surgical field.

"Now take the mammary artery," Dr. Howard instructed. "Remember, the anastomosis is everything. If the graft leaks, it's game over."

Jamie nodded, his focus absolute. He brought the internal mammary artery to the LAD, aligning them precisely. With a pair of fine surgical forceps in one hand and a needle driver in the other, he began suturing the graft in place using 7-0 polypropylene suture.

The room was silent except for the steady beep of the monitors. Jamie's hands moved carefully, each stitch placed with precision, ensuring there were no gaps or twists in the graft.

"Nice work," Dr. Howard said, leaning in slightly. "Good tension, good alignment. Now check for leaks."

Jamie finished the final knot, cutting the excess suture before flushing the graft with saline. There were no leaks—the anastomosis was perfect. A flicker of relief passed through him, but he pushed it aside. The surgery wasn't over yet.

"Good," Dr. Howard said. "Now let's warm the heart and get him off bypass."

Jamie signaled to the perfusionist, who began the process of rewarming the patient's blood. Within minutes, the heart began to quiver, the first signs of life returning. Jamie reached for the defibrillator paddles, placing them gently on the heart.

"Clear," he said.

The heart jolted under the electric current, then began to beat in a steady rhythm. The monitors confirmed it—normal sinus rhythm. Jamie let out a slow breath as the team worked to wean the patient off the bypass machine.

Once the heart was fully functional again, Jamie closed the chest carefully, suturing the sternum with stainless steel wire before layering the tissue and skin. By the time he tied the final suture, his hands were steady, but his mind was buzzing.

Dr. Howard stepped forward, patting Jamie on the shoulder. "You just saved a life, Dr. Knight. Get used to it."

Jamie stripped off his gloves and stepped out of the OR, the weight of the moment finally hitting him. He had done it. His first solo surgery. A life saved.

Jamie sat on the locker room bench, his body still buzzing from the adrenaline of the surgery. His first solo. He'd done it. His attending's words echoed in his mind: You just saved a life. Get used to it. A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. He wasn't the type to celebrate, but this moment felt monumental.

The buzzing of his phone on the counter pulled him out of his thoughts. He reached for it, glancing at the screen: Dad.

He hesitated for just a second before swiping to answer. "Hey, Dad," he said, leaning back against the cold metal of the lockers.

"Jamie!" his father's familiar, warm voice filled the line. "I wasn't sure if you'd pick up. I figured you'd still be elbow-deep in surgeries or buried in a textbook."

Jamie chuckled lightly, though there was a flicker of guilt beneath it. "I just finished one, actually. First solo."

"You don't say." His dad's tone shifted, tinged with pride. "Well, congratulations, kid. I knew you'd knock it out of the park."

"Thanks, Dad." Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, his smile fading slightly. He could hear something in his father's voice—something he hadn't noticed before. A softness. A hesitation.

"So, uh," his dad began, clearing his throat, "when are you coming to visit? It's been a while since you stopped by the house. Feels like forever since I've seen you."

Jamie sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "I know, Dad. I've just been... busy. The hours are insane here. Residency isn't exactly forgiving."

"I get that, Jamie. I do." His dad's tone was patient, but there was a hint of something else—concern. "But you've got to make time for yourself, too. It's not healthy to keep pushing like this."

Jamie didn't respond right away. His father wasn't wrong, but what could he say? The long hours, the constant pressure—it was the only way he knew how to cope. Medicine had become more than just a career. It was his anchor, the one thing that kept him connected to his mother.

"I know it's hard," his dad continued, his voice softer now. "But the house feels a little empty these days. I miss having you around, kid. It doesn't have to be anything big—just dinner. Or even lunch. Just stop by."

Jamie's chest tightened. He could picture his father sitting in their old kitchen, the worn-out chair he always favored, a coffee mug in hand. His dad had always been the strong one, the grounded one. Hearing him sound this... lonely felt wrong.

"I'll try," Jamie said quietly, though the words felt hollow. "I'll find some time soon, I promise."

"You'd better," his dad said, though there was a smile in his voice. "And Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you, you know. Always have been. Your mom would be, too."

The words hit Jamie harder than he expected. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded, even though his father couldn't see it. "Thanks, Dad."

"Alright, I'll let you go. Get some rest, okay? And don't make me wait too long before I see you."

"I won't," Jamie said, forcing a small smile. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too."

The call ended, leaving Jamie alone in the locker room. The smile faded from his face as he set the phone down on the bench beside him. He knew his dad meant well, but the guilt crept in all the same. He should've visited. He should've made more time. But the hospital demanded everything, and Jamie had always given it willingly.

Medicine is how I stay close to her, he thought. Every patient saved, every life touched—it was his way of honoring his mother's legacy. But in doing so, he'd let himself drift from the only other person who had loved her as much as he did.

Jamie exhaled slowly, staring at the wall in front of him. "Looks like I gotta go back sometime, huh…" he murmured to himself, the words hanging heavy in the quiet room.

Back in the Present

Jamie woke with a start, the memory fading as he blinked up at the ceiling of his penthouse. His chest felt tight, the weight of the dream lingering like a shadow. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as he steadied his breathing.

The memory of his father's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and vivid. He could still hear the warmth, the patience, the concern. It had been early in his residency, back when he thought he had all the time in the world. He hadn't visited as soon as he should have, and now it was a regret he carried every day.

Jamie stood and walked to the window, staring out at the Seattle skyline. The rain had stopped, the city washed clean in the faint light of the afternoon.

You can't change the past, he reminded himself. But you can make something of the present.

Jamie glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:00 PM. The faint orange and pink hues of the setting sun painted the Seattle skyline, reflecting off the glass windows of the buildings around him. The day had passed quicker than he realized, but the weight of his memories and the quiet of the penthouse had started to gnaw at him.

He needed a drink.

Pulling his phone from the nightstand, he scrolled through his contacts until he landed on the familiar name: Derek Shepherd. It had been years since they'd spoken, but Jamie had always appreciated Derek's easygoing nature.

Back then, Derek had been a neurosurgery attending in New York, already building his reputation among the staff. Jamie, fresh out of medical school, had been in the early, grueling months of his trauma surgery residency. Their paths had crossed often in the OR, Derek occasionally stepping in to assist with cases that required neurosurgical expertise.

Jamie smirked to himself. Derek had always had that confidence about him, the kind that irritated some and inspired others. But to Jamie, Derek had been someone to look up to—a mentor of sorts, even if unofficially. He hit the call button and held the phone to his ear.

The line rang twice before Derek picked up. "Dr. Knight," Derek answered, his voice warm with a hint of amusement. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. How the hell are you?"

Jamie grinned. "Hey, Shepherd. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"More than a while," Derek replied, laughing lightly. "Last I saw you, you were running circles around the trauma floor in New York. What's it been—ten years?"

"Just about," Jamie said. "A lot's happened since then."

"I'd imagine so," Derek said. "The Army thing, right? I heard you went off to save lives in war zones. Classic Jamie."

Jamie chuckled softly. "Something like that. I've been out for a while now, though. Just moved to Seattle. Thought I'd give you a call before I start stirring up trouble."

"Seattle, huh?" Derek sounded genuinely surprised. "Let me guess—you're at Seattle Grace?"

"Not yet," Jamie said, leaning back against the counter. "Interviewed with Webber this morning. Pretty sure I've got the job, though."

Derek laughed. "That sounds about right. You were always good at impressing people when it mattered. So, what's up? You didn't just call me to catch up, did you?"

Jamie smirked. "Not exactly. I'm looking for a good bar. Figured you'd know the scene better than I would."

"Oh, now I know you've changed," Derek teased. "You, asking me for advice? What's the world coming to?"

"Things change, Shepherd," Jamie said with a grin. "Now, are you going to help me out or not?"

Derek's laugh was warm and easy. "Alright, alright. There's a place called Joe's Bar near the hospital. It's where most of us go to blow off steam. Good drinks, good company—just don't expect privacy. Half the hospital's probably there right now."

Jamie nodded to himself. "Joe's Bar. Got it. Thanks, Shepherd."

"Anytime. And hey, swing by the hospital tomorrow. I've got a few surgeries lined up, but I'll make time to catch up."

"Sounds good," Jamie said. "Thanks again. I'll see you around."

"Take care, Knight."

Jamie ended the call, setting the phone down on the counter. A faint smile lingered on his face as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. Derek had been right—things had changed. But stepping into Joe's Bar tonight felt like the right kind of change.

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Flashback: The First Meeting

Derek Shepherd leaned back in his chair, the phone still warm in his hand after Jamie's call. The memory of their first meeting flickered to life, sharp and vivid, as if it had happened just yesterday. He hadn't thought about that day in years, but it came rushing back now, unbidden.

It was chaos in the ER that morning, even by New York Presbyterian's standards. The trauma team was already neck-deep in cases when Derek was paged. MVC (motor vehicle collision). Impalement injury. Neuro consult needed. The mention of potential spinal trauma had him heading straight for the ER, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he walked.

The paramedics were wheeling in the victim just as Derek arrived—a man in his thirties, unconscious, blood soaking the stretcher. One of the paramedics started briefing Derek: "Driver involved in a high-speed crash, impaled through the abdomen by a metal bar. Passenger removed the bar, causing massive blood loss. Must have been drunk."

Derek scanned the scene quickly. His part wouldn't come until the OR if there was spinal involvement, but something about the situation caught his attention. The patient wasn't being handled by a senior trauma surgeon—not yet, at least. Instead, a younger man, his scrubs already drenched in blood, was sitting beside the stretcher, both hands deep inside the patient's abdomen.

Derek blinked. Who the hell was this guy?

The younger man looked up, his blue eyes sharp and focused. "You must be Shepherd," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "Good. We might need you."

"Who are you?" Derek asked, pulling on gloves as he stepped closer.

"Jamie Knight," the man said quickly. "First-year surgical resident." He glanced back down at the patient, his hands holding steady. "Right now, I'm your only chance of keeping this guy alive."

Derek frowned. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Compressing the aorta," Jamie said matter-of-factly. "When the passenger pulled the bar out, it severed the mesenteric artery. He's bleeding out faster than we can transfuse. I've got control for now, but we need to get him to the OR—fast."

Derek stared at him for a moment, stunned.

"You're serious," Derek muttered, stepping aside to let the trauma team do their job.

Jamie didn't even look up. "Dead serious. If I let go, he's done. OR prepped?"

Derek glanced at the attending trauma surgeon, who had just arrived and was barking orders. "We're ready."

Derek scrubbed in as the trauma team worked quickly to prep the patient. The trauma attending, Dr. Lin, was leading the surgery, but Derek was there as a neuro consult. The report was clear: the metal bar had grazed the spine during the impalement. Derek's job was to ensure no permanent damage had been done.

As Derek entered the OR, he saw Jamie again. The young resident stood to the side, his scrubs soaked with blood, his face calm but focused. He wasn't supposed to be there—first-years didn't usually assist in major trauma cases—but no one seemed to be questioning it.

"Knight," Dr. Lin said without looking up. "You did good out there. Now stay out of the way unless I need you."

Jamie gave a small nod, stepping back. Derek caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. "First-year, huh?"

Jamie shrugged. "First day, actually."

Derek huffed a quiet laugh. "Not bad for a first day."

"Thanks," Jamie said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Don't screw up the spine."

The surgery was long and grueling, but in the end, the patient was stable. The trauma team had controlled the bleeding, and Derek's exam of the spinal cord revealed no permanent damage. As the OR cleared, Derek spotted Jamie in the hallway, his scrubs still a mess, his hair damp with sweat.

"You've got a habit of jumping into chaos, huh?" Derek said, leaning against the wall beside him.

Jamie looked up, the exhaustion clear in his eyes, but so was the determination. "I saw someone who needed help. What was I supposed to do? Walk away?"

Derek studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You've got guts, Knight. And you're sharp. You'll do fine here."

Jamie smirked faintly. "Coming from the neurosurgery golden boy, I'll take that as a compliment."

Derek laughed, pushing off the wall. "Golden boy? That's a new one. Try not to scare the trauma team too much, alright?"

"No promises," Jamie called after him.

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Back in the Present

Derek chuckled to himself, the memory fading as he stared out the window of his office at Seattle Grace. That first day had set the tone for everything he'd come to know about Jamie Knight—sharp, fearless, and impossible to ignore.

"Same old Knight," Derek muttered under his breath, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Always diving in headfirst."

Jamie's POV: At the Bar

The neon glow of Joe's Bar cut through the dark Seattle night, casting faint red and blue streaks across the wet sidewalk. Jamie stepped out of his Aston Martin, his shoes splashing slightly in the puddles, and glanced up at the sign. It wasn't much to look at—a simple place tucked into the corner of a block near the hospital—but Derek's recommendation had been clear. This was the spot.

He pushed open the door, immediately hit by the warm hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the faint buzz of music playing from the jukebox. The place was busy but not overcrowded, with just the right amount of noise to drown out his thoughts without overwhelming him. It smelled of beer and fried food—a comforting, familiar scent that reminded him of a life before war zones and sterile hospital halls.

Sliding onto a stool at the bar, Jamie gave a nod to the bartender. A middle-aged man with kind eyes and a relaxed demeanor walked over, drying his hands on a towel. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey," Jamie said. "Neat."

The bartender nodded, pouring him a generous amount before sliding the glass across the counter. Jamie picked it up, rolling it lightly between his fingers before taking a slow sip. The burn spread through his chest, a welcome warmth against the chill that seemed to linger in his bones lately.

His gaze swept the room as he drank. Nurses and doctors clustered in booths and at tables, some still in scrubs, others in casual clothes, their laughter and chatter filling the air. A few of them glanced his way—new faces always drew attention—but Jamie ignored it. He wasn't here to mingle.

The bartender came back, leaning slightly on the counter. "Haven't seen you around here before. New in town?"

Jamie gave a small nod. "Yeah. Just moved here. Starting at Seattle Grace."

The bartender's eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah, so you're one of the surgeons. That explains the suit." He chuckled, gesturing to Jamie's slightly overdressed appearance compared to the crowd. "Name's Joe, by the way. This is my place."

Jamie raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment. "Jamie Knight. Trauma surgeon."

Joe nodded approvingly. "Well, Dr. Knight, welcome to Seattle. If you're at Grace, you'll probably be seeing a lot of this place. It's kind of a second home for the staff."

Jamie smirked faintly. "Derek Shepherd mentioned this was the spot. Thought I'd check it out."

"Derek, huh? Yeah, he's a regular. You must've known him back in New York?"

"We crossed paths," Jamie said simply, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Good guy. Annoyingly perfect, but good."

Joe laughed. "That sounds about right. Well, if you need anything, just holler."

Jamie nodded, watching as Joe moved down the bar to help another patron. He turned his attention back to his drink, letting the whiskey settle in his chest as he leaned back slightly. The bar had a comforting energy—easy, unpretentious. It felt... normal. And after everything, normal was exactly what he needed.

The bartender, Joe, wandered back over, leaning slightly on the counter. "You settling in alright?"

Jamie nodded. "Yeah. Nice place. Shepherd was right about it."

Joe grinned. "That guy's not wrong often, though I wouldn't tell him that to his face."

Jamie chuckled softly, setting his glass down. "How long have you known him?"

"Long enough to know he drinks whiskey when he's happy and tequila when he's in trouble," Joe said with a laugh. "But enough about him. What about you? Seattle treating you okay so far?"

Jamie hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It's different. Slower than New York, but in a good way."

Joe nodded knowingly. "Yeah, it grows on you. And hey, you're at Grace now—you'll be busier than you think."

"I'm counting on it," Jamie said, his tone wry but genuine.

Joe gave him a pat on the counter before moving on.

The Next Morning

Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Jamie's penthouse, the soft glow reflecting off the polished wood floors and sleek modern furniture. The rain from the previous night had cleared, leaving the city bathed in a muted golden light.

Jamie stirred, his arm draped lazily over the edge of his bed. He blinked against the sunlight, the faint pounding in his head a reminder of the whiskey from the night before. As his senses adjusted, he became aware of the soft sound of breathing beside him.

Turning his head slightly, he saw her—a young woman, her dark hair splayed across the pillow, her face relaxed in peaceful sleep. A nurse. Her name escaped him for a moment, though fragments of the previous night began piecing themselves together: the bar, the laughter, her teasing him about being "the new trauma guy." He hadn't expected the night to end this way, but here they were.

Jamie let out a quiet sigh, sitting up carefully to avoid waking her. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool floor as he ran a hand through his hair. The clock on his nightstand read 6:30 AM—plenty of time before his first day at Seattle Grace officially began.

He glanced over his shoulder as the woman stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked a few times, her gaze meeting his.

"Morning," she said, her voice soft and still tinged with sleep.

"Morning," Jamie replied, his tone calm but polite. "How're you feeling?"

"Not bad," she said with a faint smile, propping herself up on one elbow. "Guessing I didn't dream all this?"

Jamie smirked faintly, standing and reaching for a shirt draped over the back of a chair. "Nope. Definitely real."

She chuckled softly, sitting up and brushing her hair back. "Well, it's not every day I wake up in a penthouse. Guess I picked the right guy to talk to last night."

Jamie glanced back at her, pulling the shirt over his head. "Didn't seem like much of a choice. You were the only one brave enough to introduce yourself."

By the time the nurse left, Jamie was showered and dressed in his neatly pressed scrubs. He stood at the window, sipping a cup of coffee as he watched her step out of the building and disappear down the street. The interaction had been casual, a fleeting moment in the midst of a life he was still trying to rebuild.

He glanced at his reflection in the glass. The man staring back at him looked calm, composed, ready to take on the day. But beneath the surface, Jamie knew the weight of his past was still there, lingering like a shadow.

He turned away from the window, setting the coffee cup down as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.