I am a Tree

The cool morning air hit Jamie's face as he jogged down the quiet streets of Seattle. This time of day had a weird kind of magic to it—everything felt still, like the city was holding its breath before waking up. The faint glow of the sunrise started creeping over the buildings, painting everything in soft orange and pink hues.

Jamie's pace slowed as he reached the waterfront. He stepped off the path, onto a wooden pier that stretched over the still water. Bracing his hands on his knees, he took a deep breath, staring out at the river. The sunlight danced on the ripples, catching the edges of a ferry as it glided across the water in the distance.

For a moment, he felt... calm. It wasn't a feeling Jamie got often, and he didn't trust it to stick around. Sure enough, as his eyes followed the ferry's silhouette, something stirred in the back of his mind. A memory hit him...

Flashback: Deployment – The Hostage Rescue

The Black Hawk helicopter hovered low over the dark ocean, its rotors slicing through the night air. Jamie Knight sat near the open side door, his trauma kit strapped to his back. Around him, the SEAL team sat silently, their weapons ready. The mission briefing had been short but clear: a CIA operative was being held hostage by the Taliban on a cargo ship in hostile waters. The agent was reportedly injured, and Jamie's job was to ensure they made it out alive.

"ETA two minutes," the pilot called over the comms.

Master Chief Daniels, the team leader, turned to Jamie. "Doc, you stay back until we secure the area. Once we've got the hostage, he's all yours."

Jamie gave a quick nod, his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Understood."

As the Black Hawk approached the ship, the spotlight illuminated its rusted deck. The cargo vessel was massive, with rows of shipping containers stacked like a metal maze. The SEALs rappelled down first, hitting the deck and moving swiftly to secure the perimeter. Jamie followed moments later, landing with a hard thud as he crouched low, staying behind the team.

The sound of boots on metal echoed as the SEALs cleared the main deck, their weapons sweeping the area. "Clear!" one of them called, signaling Jamie to follow.

The team moved toward the interior of the ship, their movements practiced and silent. Jamie stayed close but out of the line of fire, his trauma pack bumping against his back with every step. The air inside was thick with the smell of rust, oil, and seawater.

The silence didn't last long.

Gunfire erupted as the SEALs pushed deeper into the ship. The sharp cracks of bullets deflected off metal walls, and Jamie pressed himself against the bulkhead, his heart pounding. He could hear the team shouting commands, the chaos of the firefight making it impossible to tell how many hostiles they were up against.

"Hostage located!" someone yelled over the comms.

Jamie moved quickly, following the sound of the call. When he entered the room, the sight made his stomach twist.

The CIA operative—a man in his late thirties—was slumped against the wall, his face bruised and bloodied. His wrists were bound, and a makeshift bandage was wrapped around his leg, soaked through with blood. His breathing was shallow, his head lolling to one side as the SEALs freed him from his restraints.

"Doc, he's all yours," Daniels said, keeping his weapon trained on the door.

Jamie dropped to his knees beside the man, already pulling supplies from his kit. "Agent Carter, I'm Dr. Knight," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I'm here to help. Stay with me, alright?"

The man groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "Took… long enough," he muttered, his voice weak but laced with dry humor.

Jamie smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly in a five-star hotel."

He worked quickly, cutting away the bandage to assess the wound. The bullet had torn through the agent's thigh, just missing the femoral artery. Blood loss was the biggest concern, and Jamie immediately applied pressure, packing the wound to slow the bleeding.

"Vitals are stable for now," Jamie reported. "We need to move him—fast."

"Extraction point's on the main deck," Daniels said, motioning for the team to move out.

Gunfire erupted again as they made their way back to the deck, the hostiles closing in. Jamie stayed low, one arm wrapped around the stretcher as the SEALs laid down cover fire. The helicopter came into view, its rotors kicking up a storm of wind and saltwater as it hovered above the deck.

The team lifted the stretcher onto the chopper, and Jamie climbed in after them, immediately resuming his work on the agent. He started an IV, administering fluids and stabilizing the wound as the helicopter lifted off. The ocean disappeared beneath them.

"Carter, stay with me," Jamie said, glancing at the man's pale face.

The agent's eyes flickered open, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You don't… give up, do you?"

"Not on my watch," Jamie replied.

But as the helicopter neared the base, Carter's vitals began to deteriorate rapidly. The heart monitor alarmed with irregular beeps, showing his heart rate dropping into the 40s. His oxygen saturation plummeted, flashing red at 82%. Jamie's stomach tightened as he leaned over the stretcher, checking the bandage on Carter's thigh.

"He's losing volume fast," Jamie muttered to himself. He glanced at the IV line, ensuring the saline infusion was wide open. "We're running out of time."

Carter's breathing became more erratic, a wet, gurgling sound emanating from his chest. Jamie grabbed his stethoscope and listened intently. The muffled breath sounds on the left side sent a chill through him. "Damn it—hemothorax."

He reached into his trauma kit and pulled out a 14-gauge needle, quickly locating the second intercostal space at the midclavicular line on Carter's left side. With practiced precision, he inserted the needle into the pleural cavity, releasing a rush of air and blood. The immediate hiss confirmed his diagnosis. "Tension pneumothorax—relieved for now," he said, his voice steady but clipped.

The relief was short-lived. The cardiac monitor showed ventricular tachycardia—wild, irregular spikes. Carter's body began to convulse weakly.

"Shit, he's coding!" Jamie barked. He grabbed the defibrillator paddles, slapping conductive gel onto them. "Charging to 200 joules. Clear!"

The jolt made Carter's body jerk, but the monitor showed no change. Still in v-tach. Jamie pressed his fingers to Carter's carotid artery. No pulse.

"He's pulseless. Switching to CPR!" Jamie climbed halfway onto the stretcher, performing rapid chest compressions with the heel of his hand, keeping count under his breath. "Come on, Carter. Stay with me."

Sweat dripped down Jamie's face as he switched to manual ventilation with an Ambu bag, squeezing oxygen into Carter's lungs in sync with the compressions. "Epinephrine, 1 milligram IV push!" Jamie ordered, administering the life-saving drug through the peripheral IV line.

Carter's pupils were blown—fixed and dilated. Despite the epinephrine, defibrillation, and continuous compressions, the monitor flatlined, showing asystole. Jamie knew the odds of recovery from asystole were grim, but he wasn't ready to give up.

"Pushing another round of epi," Jamie muttered, injecting the drug. He continued compressions, his muscles screaming in protest, but the monitor refused to budge. No electrical activity. No pulse.

One of the SEALs leaned closer, his voice quiet but firm. "Doc… you did everything you could."

Jamie froze, his hands still mid-compression. His eyes lingered on the monitor, as if sheer willpower could bring back a rhythm. Slowly, he pulled back, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

The silence in the helicopter was deafening as Jamie reached up and turned off the defibrillator. The long, steady tone of the flatline echoed in his ears.

Later, at the base, Jamie sat alone in a dimly lit room, staring at a tablet screen. On the other end of the video call was the agent's family—a wife and a young daughter. Jamie's chest felt like it was being crushed as he delivered the news.

"He fought hard," Jamie said quietly, his voice steady even though he felt like he was falling apart. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could."

The wife broke down, clutching her sobbing daughter. Jamie swallowed hard, ending the call after a few moments. There was nothing else to say.

Present

Jamie blinked, the flashback fading as the sunlight on the river came back into focus. His chest felt tight, his hands gripping the pier railing like it could keep him grounded.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear the memory. Without another pause, he took off running again, his pace faster now, more desperate. The sound of his sneakers slamming against the pavement echoed in his ears, drowning out the phantom voices from his past. That had been his first death. 

By the time Jamie reached his apartment, he was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. After a quick shower, he stood in the kitchen, frying up scrambled eggs and toast. The familiar routine helped settle him, even if only a little.

As he ate at the counter, his phone buzzed. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Grandma Knight and tapped the call button.

"Jamie, dear!" her warm voice answered after just two rings. "What a surprise! How are you?"

Jamie smiled faintly. "Morning, Grandma. Just wanted to let you know I'm coming by later. Thought we could have lunch."

"Oh, Jamie, that's wonderful news! James is making roast chicken—your favorite, right?"

"Still my favorite," Jamie said with a soft chuckle.

"Well, I'll be ready when you get here. Drive safe, dear."

"I will. Love you, Grandma."

"Love you too, Jamie."

Ending the call, Jamie set the phone down and finished his coffee. Visits with his grandmother were like hitting a reset button—a rare chance to feel normal again, even if only for a little while. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

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Jamie pulled up to the grand iron gates of his grandmother's estate, the black Aston Martin humming as he rolled down the driveway. The mansion ahead was framed by meticulously groomed hedges and towering oak trees, the kind of house that practically oozed "old money." Jamie had grown up visiting this place.

The house itself was a mix of elegance and warmth—white brick with ivy climbing up one side, massive windows that gleamed in the afternoon sun, and a fountain bubbling quietly in the front courtyard.

As Jamie stepped out of his car, the door opened, and Grandma Knight appeared on the front steps, her silk scarf fluttering in the breeze. She was dressed in a tailored cashmere sweater and pearl earrings, the picture of effortless sophistication.

"Jamie, darling," she called out, her voice carrying a slight, refined accent. She walked toward him with arms outstretched.

He grinned, meeting her halfway and leaning down to hug her. "You're looking sharp, Grandma."

"And you're looking like you haven't eaten in days," she said, pulling back to inspect him with a critical but loving gaze. "Come inside before I start calling your hospital to complain about their cafeteria food."

Jamie chuckled, following her into the house. Inside, the marble foyer gleamed under a crystal chandelier, and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air. His footsteps echoed slightly as they passed into the dining room, where the table was already set with fine china and silver.

"Sit, sit," she said, motioning to a chair at the head of the table. "Everything's ready."

The butler—James, who'd been with the family for as long as Jamie could remember—entered with a silver platter, setting it on the table with practiced precision. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh-baked rolls, and a colorful array of vegetables were all laid out in front of him.

"James, thank you," Jamie said, and the older man gave a polite nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

As they began to eat, Grandma Knight sipped her tea and fixed Jamie with one of her signature looks. "So, how's the hospital? Have you impressed them yet, or are you still easing your way in?"

Jamie smirked, taking a bite of chicken. "I think I've made an impression. Might've been the CDC quarantine yesterday."

Her eyebrows arched. "Quarantine? Was it handled?"

"Handled. Let's just say my first week hasn't exactly been quiet," he said with a wry grin.

She chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you. But you're not overworking yourself, are you? You have a habit of burning the candle at both ends."

"Don't worry, Grandma," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I know how to pace myself."

"Hm." She didn't look entirely convinced but let it go. "You know, Jamie, I'm proud of you. What you're doing... your mother would be proud too."

The mention of his mother brought a familiar ache to Jamie's chest, but he managed a small smile. "Thanks, Grandma."

They spent the next hour talking—about the hospital, Seattle, and her latest charity gala plans. As Jamie finished his coffee, he glanced at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner.

"I should get going. Afternoon shift's coming up," he said, rising from his seat.

She stood too, walking him to the door. "Come by again soon, Jamie. And don't forget—you're always welcome here if you need a break."

"I know, Grandma," he said, kissing her cheek. "Thanks for lunch. Love you."

"Love you too, darling. Drive safely—and take care of that car!" she called as he walked to the Aston Martin.

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The sound of Jamie's Aston Martin was interrupted when he noticed a commotion ahead. People stood on the side of the road, waving their arms frantically as cars slowed to a crawl. A bad feeling settled in his chest as he pulled over, the car standing out against the chaos.

Jamie grabbed his trauma kit from the trunk and jogged toward the scene. His eyes immediately locked onto the source of the panic—a teenager sprawled out in the grass, blood soaking through his shirt and a massive tree branch lodged in the boy's left side, jagged and raw.

A man, likely the boy's father, paced nearby, yelling into his phone. "Yes, an ambulance! He's got a—he's—there's a tree! In him! A goddamn tree!"

Jamie crouched down beside the boy, assessing the situation. "I'm Dr. Knight," he said calmly. "What's his name?"

"Marley," the man answered, his voice shaky as he knelt on the other side. "He—he was street lugeing, and he lost control. He—he hit a car, and then he landed… Oh my God, this tree…"

Jamie's tone remained steady as he opened his kit and snapped on gloves. "Okay. Let's not move him. Marley, can you hear me?"

The boy groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open. "Hospital?" he murmured, his words slurred.

"Yeah, buddy, we're getting you there. But you gotta work with me, okay? Just keep breathing nice and steady," Jamie said, pulling out gauze and starting to assess the wound.

The tree branch was massive, splintered and jagged, piercing through Marley's left side just below his rib cage. Blood seeped steadily around the wound, soaking his shirt and pooling beneath him. Jamie pressed around the injury, noting the tension in the tissue. His fingers brushed the boy's abdomen, and he frowned. "Distended belly. Probably internal bleeding."

"What does that mean?" the father demanded, his face pale with panic.

"It means we need to move fast," Jamie said without looking up. "This branch is keeping him from bleeding out entirely, so we're leaving it in for now." He worked quickly, packing gauze around the wound to stabilize it.

"Ambulance is coming!" the father shouted, relief flooding his voice as the distant wail of sirens grew closer.

Marley groaned again, his breathing shallow. Jamie grabbed his stethoscope and pressed it to the boy's chest. The faint, uneven breath sounds sent a red flag through Jamie's mind. "Pneumothorax," he muttered.

"What does that mean? Is he going to die?" the father asked, his voice breaking.

"It means air's building up in his chest, putting pressure on his lungs," Jamie explained, grabbing a needle from his kit. "I need to relieve it now."

He moved with practiced precision, locating the second intercostal space at the midclavicular line. With one smooth motion, he inserted the needle into Marley's chest, and a loud hiss of air escaped.

"Good. Lungs are decompressing," Jamie said, watching Marley's chest rise more evenly.

The ambulance pulled up seconds later, and two paramedics jumped out, their eyes widening slightly when they saw the branch.

"Massive penetrating trauma to the left flank," Jamie reported, already helping stabilize Marley for transfer. "He's got probable hemothorax and abdominal bleeding. Tree branch is tamponading the wound, so we leave it in. I decompressed a tension pneumo en route."

The paramedics nodded, quickly sliding Marley onto the stretcher. As they secured him, one of them turned to Jamie. "Doc, you coming with us?"

Jamie glanced back at his Aston Martin, then fished the keys out of his pocket. He tossed them to the paramedic, who caught them with a look of surprise.

"Park it at the hospital and don't wreck my baby," Jamie said with a faint smirk.

The paramedic grinned, holding up the keys like they were a trophy. "You got it, Doc. Sweet ride, by the way."

Jamie climbed into the ambulance, immediately resuming his work as the sirens wailed and the vehicle sped toward the hospital. He held Marley's hand, monitoring his vitals and watching the oxygen saturation on the portable monitor.

"You're doing good, Marley," Jamie said, his tone firm but encouraging. "We're almost there. Just hang on."

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The ambulance skidded to a halt in front of the ER, its tires screeching as paramedics jumped into action. The back doors flew open, and Jamie leaped out first, steadying the stretcher as Marley moaned weakly, his pale face glistening with sweat.

Bailey and Karev were already at the entrance, and both froze momentarily at the sight of the teenager—with an enormous tree branch impaled through his torso.

"Is that... a tree?" Karev asked, his mouth slightly agape.

"It's a trauma, Karev!" Bailey snapped, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the chaos. "Focus! What've we got?"

Jamie quickly rattled off the situation as they jogged the stretcher inside. "Street luge accident. Teenager. The branch penetrated the left flank, missed the heart and lungs but likely caused a hemothorax and massive abdominal trauma. BP's tanking—last reading was 60 over 35. Two liters of saline are in. He's stable for now, but the branch is tamponading internal bleeding. Remove it, and he bleeds out."

Bailey's sharp eyes scanned the boy as they wheeled him into the ER. She snapped her fingers at the surrounding staff. "I need an OR ready now! And someone page cardio and general surgery—we'll need all hands on this!"

Just as they cleared the doors, Marley stirred, his voice a faint groan. "Hospital? What's… the matter with me?"

His father, Mr. Hernandez, charged toward the stretcher, his face a mix of panic and anger. "What's the matter with you? You're an idiot—that's what's the matter!"

"Dad?" Marley murmured weakly.

"Your friends are idiots, and you don't use the sense God gave you!" Mr. Hernandez raged, his voice rising.

"Sir, back away," Bailey ordered, stepping between him and the stretcher. "We need to move your son to the trauma bay. Now."

Mr. Hernandez ignored her, stepping in front of the stretcher, blocking its path. "You let him do this! How could you let him—"

A nurse tried to intervene, her voice strained. "Sir, you're blocking our path, please!"

But before anyone could react further, Karev stepped in and shoved the father to the side, sending him stumbling into the wall. "Move it!" Karev barked.

"Alex!" Bailey shouted, her voice sharp with disbelief.

"Are you okay?" Karev asked, glaring at Mr. Hernandez.

The father straightened up, his face red with rage. "You son of a b*tch! Where's my son?"

Bailey stepped in before the situation escalated further. "We took him in there. And you," she said, pointing a finger at Karev, "will not get physical with another human being on my watch ever again. You will not question my authority, and you will not defend your little girlfriend for k*lling a man. Are we clear?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Karev muttered, clearly annoyed.

"Good! Now stop causing problems and get back to work," Bailey snapped. She turned to Mr. Hernandez, her tone softening. "I know you're scared, but if you want to help your son, stay out of our way. I'll update you as soon as I can."

Mr. Hernandez nodded reluctantly, stepping aside, though his hands were shaking.

Inside the trauma bay, Jamie led the team with practiced precision.

"Karev, get an ultrasound. I need a FAST exam—look for free fluid in the abdomen. Someone prep for a chest tube—left side. And where's that O-neg blood I asked for?"

"On its way!" a nurse called.

Jamie pressed the stethoscope to Marley's chest, his expression grim. "Muffled breath sounds on the left side. He's got blood in his chest—likely a hemothorax."

"BP's dropping—50 over 30," Karev reported, glancing at the monitor.

Jamie nodded, grabbing the ultrasound probe and running it over Marley's abdomen. The screen showed large pools of fluid swirling in the peritoneal cavity. "Massive hemoperitoneum. He's bleeding out internally. We need to move now."

"OR's prepped," a nurse said, poking her head in.

Bailey stepped forward, taking stock of the situation. "Alright, people, let's roll. And be careful with that branch. If it shifts even a millimeter, he bleeds out before we make it to the OR."

Outside the OR

Hours later, Bailey emerged from the OR, her scrubs splattered with blood. She found Mr. Hernandez pacing in the waiting area, his face pale and drawn.

"Mr. Hernandez," she called, and he turned to her immediately.

"How… how is he?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Is he okay? I mean, you've been in there for hours."

Bailey let out a slow breath, keeping her voice calm. "There's extensive damage. We had to remove one of his kidneys and a portion of his bowels."

"But the tree's out," Mr. Hernandez said, his tone almost pleading. "You got it out, and he's okay, right?"

Bailey shook her head slightly. "Actually, the branch is still in. We're operating around it, which is part of what's taking so much time. We need to stabilize him first, then remove the branch safely. If we rush it, we lose him."

Mr. Hernandez sank into the nearest chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "His mother's not here yet. Do you think he'll… do you think he'll be okay by the time she gets here?"

Bailey paused, choosing her words carefully. "I can't make promises, but right now, your son is still alive. And we're doing everything we can to keep it that way."

Mr. Hernandez nodded weakly, tears welling up in his eyes. "Okay. That's… that's good. Thank you."

Bailey gave him a small nod, her face softening. "I'll be back with more updates when I can. But for now, I need to get back in there."

As she turned and headed back to the OR, Mr. Hernandez slumped forward, his head in his hands.

Jamie stood at the operating table, his gloved hands poised over Marley's chest. The massive tree branch protruded grotesquely from the teenager's left flank, stabilized but looming like an impossible challenge.

Bailey, standing across from him, frowned as blood pooled rapidly in the surgical field. "Renal artery's collapsed," she said, her tone clipped but tinged with urgency.

Webber, at Bailey's side, glanced up, his brow furrowed. "I thought you had that."

Jamie's voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. "It's not salvageable. We'll have to ligate it. Karev, suction."

Alex Karev stepped forward, wielding the suction like a lifeline, trying to clear the growing blood from the field. But Jamie didn't wait. He grabbed the scalpel and worked with astonishing speed, making a precise incision to access the bleeding artery. His movements were fluid, almost surgical choreography.

"Control the renal vein first," Jamie instructed, his voice calm but firm. "If we don't stop the backflow, the bleeding won't stop either." He slid a vascular clamp into place with practiced ease, cutting off the vein's blood flow.

As Karev fumbled with the cautery, Jamie had already isolated the renal artery. "Here's the arterial stump," he said, pointing it out. "Small incision. No need for excessive cauterization—watch."

With the scalpel, Jamie expertly severed the artery in one clean motion, his hand so steady it was as if the scalpel itself knew where to cut. Blood barely leaked from the site, his placement and technique almost surgical art.

Karev froze for a moment, stunned by the lack of bleeding. "Wait… how did you—"

"No pressure on the tissue," Jamie explained as he worked. "Less trauma means less bleeding. And if you're fast enough, you can clamp and cut before the vessel even knows it's been severed."

Bailey's eyes widened, but she didn't say a word. She was too focused, too stunned by what she was witnessing.

Webber stepped in, assisting with the retractors, but his expression betrayed a mix of awe and unease. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting slow… or if you're just that damn good," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

Jamie offered a faint grin but didn't look up from his work. "Decades of practice, Chief. You'd do the same if you were patching up soldiers in the back of a Humvee with no blood supply and half the light."

Webber raised an eyebrow, but there was no denying the truth in Jamie's words.

"Karev," Jamie continued, "prep the stapler. We'll remove the kidney next. The bleeding from the parenchyma is too severe—it's nonviable."

Karev scrambled to grab the stapler, but Jamie was already a step ahead. He reached for the instrument himself, aligning it perfectly with the hilum of the kidney. "Watch the angle," Jamie said as he fired the stapler, cleanly severing the kidney from its vascular pedicle.

He handed the kidney off to a scrub nurse. "Keep that clean for pathology."

Bailey spoke up, her voice tinged with disbelief. "The hepatic artery. It's gone too. I don't know if we—"

"We can reconstruct the hepatic artery," Jamie said, already moving toward the damaged vessel. "We'll use a synthetic graft. Sutures, 6-0 prolene. Karev, you're assisting."

Karev snapped out of his daze, stepping forward with the suture material. But as Jamie began placing the graft, Karev froze again, watching in stunned silence.

"Focus, Karev," Jamie said firmly. "Needle driver."

"Right. Needle driver," Karev muttered, handing it over.

Jamie worked in silence for a few moments, his hands a blur of precision as he stitched the synthetic graft into place. Each stitch was perfectly spaced, the tension uniform, the sutures biting just enough into the vessel wall to hold without tearing.

"Why synthetic and not a vein graft?" Karev asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Time," Jamie replied without missing a beat. "A vein graft would be ideal, but we'd lose too much time harvesting it. Synthetic works just as well for this size and location. Faster, and it saves the liver from ischemia."

Bailey's gaze darted between Jamie's hands and the monitor. "BP's stabilizing. You're actually pulling him back from the brink."

"Not just yet," Jamie said, tying off the last suture and cutting the excess with a deft flick of his wrist. "We've still got to get that tree out without opening a floodgate."

Webber stepped back slightly, crossing his arms. "Knight, you've got us this far. What's your plan for the branch?"

Jamie straightened slightly, his eyes scanning the surgical field. "We stabilize the branch and cut it down to a manageable size. Once it's shortened, we remove it slowly, piece by piece, checking for bleeding at each step. Karev, you'll clamp and cauterize as needed. And Bailey—"

Bailey raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Stay ready with pressure. If anything ruptures, I'm gonna need you to hold it while I stitch."

Bailey smirked faintly. "You think you can keep up with me?"

Jamie glanced at her, his lips quirking into a small smile. "I think you'll be keeping up with me."

The OR team chuckled softly, the tension breaking slightly as they moved to the next stage of the operation.

Karev watched Jamie's hands as he shortened the branch, marveling at the speed and precision. "How the hell do you move so fast without bleeding everywhere?"

Jamie glanced at him briefly. "Know your anatomy. Respect the tissue. And trust your hands. You'll get there, Karev. Eventually."

Karev swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the task at hand. For the first time, he wondered if he'd ever reach the level of skill he was witnessing.

Webber, standing just behind Bailey, shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Damn, Knight," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe I am getting old."

Jamie didn't respond, his focus entirely on Marley's body as he worked with the speed and precision of someone who had been through warzones and chaos—and come out the other side a master of his craft.

Jamie leaned over the surgical field, his hands steady as he made the final stitches to secure the graft. The tree branch had been successfully removed in pieces, and despite the initial chaos, Marley's vitals were stabilizing. The monitors beeped with a reassuring rhythm, and the once-frenzied OR was finally calm.

"Renal stump secure. No signs of bleeding," Jamie announced, his voice steady but firm. "Hepatic graft holding strong. Pressure's up to 95 systolic—he's holding."

Bailey glanced at the monitor, then at Jamie. "I'll be damned. You actually pulled this off."

Jamie gave her a faint smile, his focus never wavering as he tied off the last suture. "Team effort," he said, though his quick and precise work had been the backbone of the operation.

Karev, still processing what he had just witnessed, handed Jamie a pair of surgical scissors. "How… how do you move so fast? It's like you skipped half the steps, but nothing's bleeding."

"I didn't skip anything," Jamie replied, his tone almost playful. "Anatomy doesn't change, Karev. Know where the vessels are, anticipate them, and your hands will follow. Speed comes with time—and a lot of mistakes." He looked up briefly. "But those mistakes? You learn from every single one."

Webber stepped back, removing his gloves. He watched Jamie as the younger surgeon finished closing the incision. His expression was thoughtful, almost reverent. "I've been doing this for decades, and I've seen a lot of great surgeons come through these doors," Webber said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "But watching you work… it's humbling."

Jamie chuckled softly, glancing at Webber. "Coming from you, Chief, I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," Webber said, though the look in his eyes hinted at a deeper thought: Am I slowing down, or is he just that good?

Bailey stepped closer, peering over Jamie's shoulder as he finished. "BP's holding, and we've got stable flow from the hepatic graft. No leaks, no surprises." She shook her head in amazement. "Damn, Knight. You're not just good—you're a damn show-off."

Jamie smirked. "Just trying to keep up with you, Dr. Bailey."

Bailey raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. "Oh, please. You didn't just keep up—you lapped us." She turned to Karev. "And you? Watch and learn. Maybe one day, you'll get close to that level."

Karev didn't reply, too busy replaying Jamie's every move in his head. His usual cocky demeanor was noticeably absent, replaced by an uncharacteristic silence.

Jamie glanced at the anesthesiologist. "How's he doing?"

"Vitals are strong," came the reply. "He's stable for now."

"Good," Jamie said, stepping back and letting the scrub nurse begin cleanup. He peeled off his gloves and turned to Bailey.

"Good," Jamie said, stepping back and letting the scrub nurse begin cleanup. He peeled off his gloves and turned to Bailey. "I'll update the family."

Bailey nodded. "They'll want to hear it from you. Go."

Before he left the OR, Webber's voice called out, echoing words that pulled Jamie back to a moment he hadn't thought about in years. "Congratulations, Dr. Knight. You saved a life."

Jamie paused mid-step, the weight of the sentence settling over him like it had the first time he'd heard it. For a brief moment, he let himself take it in, the enormity of what they'd just accomplished. He nodded once, his voice quiet. "Thanks, Chief."

Waiting Room

Jamie pushed open the door to the waiting room and immediately spotted Mr. Hernandez, pacing in tight circles. The man's hands were clasped together, his face pale and drawn.

"Mr. Hernandez," Jamie called softly.

The father turned quickly, his eyes searching Jamie's face for any hint of good or bad news. "Is he… is my son…"

Jamie nodded, stepping closer. "He's stable. We had to remove his left kidney and a portion of his bowel, but the grafts are holding, and his vitals are strong. He's not out of the woods yet, but for now, we've stopped the bleeding."

Mr. Hernandez's knees nearly gave out as he slumped into the nearest chair, his hands shaking. "Thank God. Thank God," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my son."

Jamie placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression kind but measured. "We'll keep him in the ICU for close monitoring, and I'll personally check on him throughout the night. But for now, he's alive, and he's fighting."

Mr. Hernandez wiped his eyes, nodding rapidly. "You don't know what this means to me. To us."

Jamie offered a faint smile. "I think I do."

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Jamie's POV:

"Medicine is about control. The control we fight to keep over the chaos, over our patients, over our lives. But control is an illusion. Because life—well, life doesn't care about your plans."

Marley's Recovery Room

Bailey stood at Marley's bedside, her hands resting on the rail of the hospital bed. Marley was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the ventilator. His father, Mr. Hernandez, sat in the corner, his head in his hands.

Bailey hesitated before speaking. "Your son's stable for now. The surgery went well, but we're not out of the woods yet."

Mr. Hernandez looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Will he…?"

Bailey's tone softened, a rare moment of gentleness breaking through her tough exterior. "We've done everything we can. Now, we wait."

Nurse's Station

Alex Karev leaned on the counter, staring at the OR board. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of quiet contemplation.

"He was insane in there," Alex muttered to himself.

Bailey passed by and caught the comment. She stopped and turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Insane? That man just saved a kid's life with skills you can only dream of. If you're smart, Karev, you'll watch and learn."

Alex nodded, his jaw tightening. "Guess I've got some catching up to do."

Jamie's Penthouse

Jamie stepped into his penthouse, the soft glow of the city skyline spilling through the windows. He set his keys on the counter and poured himself a glass of water, the adrenaline from the day finally wearing off.

He walked over to the piano in the corner, running his fingers lightly over the keys. His mind wandered back to Marley on the table, to the moments in the OR where everything came down to his hands. He let out a deep sigh, pressing a single key that echoed softly through the room.

Jamie sat at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys. The surgery had gone as well as anyone could hope, but the weight of it lingered. Marley's pale face reminded him too much of Carter's. The stakes were different, but the feeling—the pressure, the responsibility—it was all the same. Saving lives might have become second nature, but the cost of it never felt any lighter.

Derek's Office

Derek Shepherd leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The chaos of the day still buzzed in his head.

He grabbed his phone and dialed.

"Knight," Jamie answered after a couple of rings, his voice slightly weary.

"Are you home yet?" Derek asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

Derek smirked. "Because I think we both need a drink after today."

Jamie chuckled lightly. "You're not wrong. Where to?"

"Joe's," Derek said simply.

Jamie glanced out at the city lights. "Give me fifteen minutes.

Joe's Bar

The bar was warm and dimly lit, the perfect antidote to the sterile chaos of the hospital. Jamie and Derek sat at the bar, whiskey glasses in front of them.

"To saving lives," Derek said, lifting his glass.

Jamie raised his in return, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And to surviving the chaos."

Derek smirked as Jamie finished his whiskey. "You know, you made Webber look like he'd just seen God in the OR today."

Jamie chuckled. "Don't think he appreciated me stealing the show."

"He'll survive," Derek said, signaling Joe for another round. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if he spends the rest of the week in the OR trying to prove he's still got it."

Jamie shook his head with a faint smile. "Can't blame him."

They clinked glasses, the sound cutting through the low hum of conversation. For the first time that day, Jamie felt a small sense of peace.

Jamie's POV:

"We tell ourselves we're in control. That we hold the scalpel, that we call the shots. But sometimes, the only thing we can do is let go. Let the chaos happen. Let life unfold. And if we're lucky, we find people who can remind us that even when control slips away… we're not alone."