The Knight’s Oath: Grey’s Anatomy

The room was quiet, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the sheets. The air was warm, thick with the remnants of sleep, and the faint hum of Boston traffic filtered through the window.

Jamie was still somewhere between asleep and awake, his body heavy, muscles sore. His mind wasn't working fast enough yet to piece things together, but the steady warmth beside him was impossible to ignore.

Then his phone buzzed.

The sharp vibration against the nightstand cut through the silence, insistent. Jamie exhaled, dragging a hand over his face before reaching for it blindly. His fingers closed around the smooth glass, and without checking the caller ID, he answered.

"Knight."

There was a pause, then—

"Jamie, dear."

His eyes opened fully at that. Eleanor Knight.

Jamie barely swallowed a groan as he shifted onto his back, blinking at the ceiling.

"You missed the plane," his grandmother continued, her voice smooth, calm, but edged with something unmistakably expectant.

Jamie let out a slow breath, sitting up slightly. His brain caught up fast. She had flown back to Seattle that morning. James had booked him a commercial flight for 8 PM. And it was now—

His gaze flicked to the clock on the nightstand. 7:04 PM.

Shit.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice rough from sleep. "Got held up."

"Mmm," Eleanor hummed, unimpressed. "James booked you first-class. You'll land at ten. Try not to be late."

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll be on it."

"Good," Eleanor said lightly. "You can explain yourself when you arrive."

The line went dead before he could say anything else.

Jamie sighed, tossing the phone onto the bed beside him. The room was still, warm. Sheets tangled around his legs.

And then—he turned his head.

Lexie.

She was curled beside him, still asleep, dark hair spilling across the pillow. The blankets barely covered her bare shoulder, rising and falling with each slow breath.

Jamie blinked, registering the details fast. The warmth of the sheets. The way the room smelled like her.

The fact that neither of them were wearing anything.

He shifted slightly, the mattress dipping under his weight. Lexie stirred at the movement, brows furrowing before her eyes fluttered open.

Jamie froze.

Lexie blinked, groggy at first. Then she registered him.

And for a long, quiet second, they just stared at each other.

Lexie blinked again, her eyes still hazy with sleep, brows furrowing slightly as she processed the situation. The dim light. The sheets tangled around them. The fact that Jamie was still in her bed.

Jamie didn't move. Neither did she.

There was a beat of silence—heavy, charged, unmistakably awkward.

Then, at the same time—

"So—"

"Okay—"

They both stopped, words colliding. Lexie pressed her lips together, shifting under the blanket, and Jamie let out a quiet breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.

The weight of what had happened between them hung in the air, but neither of them seemed ready to acknowledge it head-on.

Lexie pulled the sheets up higher, suddenly hyperaware of how much of her skin was still exposed. Jamie caught the movement but didn't comment. Instead, he ran a hand through his already-messy hair, eyes flicking toward the clock on the nightstand.

7:07 PM.

His flight was in less than an hour. He needed to get up.

Jamie swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the cool floor. He felt Lexie watching him.

"So," she said, voice still a little sleep-rough. "That happened."

Jamie grabbed his pants from where they'd ended up on the floor, pulling them on without looking at her.

"Yeah."

Another silence.

Lexie shifted, tucking her hair behind her ear, fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.

"I mean, it's not a big deal or anything."

Jamie paused for half a second, then pulled his shirt on.

"Right."

Lexie nodded. Too quickly.

"Just… one of those things. Two people. Adults. No pressure."

Jamie glanced at her. She was talking too much.

Lexie inhaled. "We don't have to make it a thing, you know? Like, it doesn't have to be weird or—"

"Lexie." Jamie's voice was low.

She stilled.

Jamie sat back on the edge of the bed, looking at her fully for the first time. Her hair was still a mess from sleep, her cheeks faintly flushed. She looked—soft.

Too soft.

And Jamie knew himself well enough to know that if he kept looking at her like this, he wouldn't leave.

So instead, he exhaled, pushing himself up. "I should go."

Lexie nodded. Too fast again. "Yeah. Of course. You have a flight."

Jamie grabbed his coat off the chair, checked his phone.

7:12 PM.

He was cutting it too close.

Lexie watched him the whole time, like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if she should.

Jamie hesitated for half a second. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down, pressing a quick, firm kiss to her lips.

Lexie didn't pull away.

Jamie pulled back first, his gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary.

Then—he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and just like that, the room felt completely different.

Lexie sat there, blanket wrapped around her, staring at the empty space he had just occupied.

Then she let out a frustrated groan, falling back onto the mattress and covering her face with her hands.

Because—what the hell was that?

She'd spent the last five minutes downplaying the hell out of it, acting like it was no big deal, like it hadn't meant anything—But the second he walked out the door?

It did.

Lexie hated that she felt it.

Because now, there was no denying it.

Now, it was real.

And the distance, the uncertainty of what happened next—it was all getting harder to ignore.

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

The night air was sharp against Jamie's skin as he stepped out of Vanderbilt Hall. The streets were quieter now, the glow of streetlights stretching long across the pavement.

Jamie didn't stop.

He pulled his coat tighter, glanced up at the sky once, then flagged down a cab.

The driver barely had time to hit the brakes before Jamie slid into the backseat, the leather cold beneath his palms.

"Logan Airport. Departures."

The driver gave a short nod, merging back into traffic.

Jamie exhaled, letting his head rest against the seat. He could still feel Lexie—the warmth of her sheets, the way she had looked at him just before he left.

He needed to stop thinking.

The cab moved through the city, neon lights flashing past, memories pressing in at the edges of his mind. He let them stay there, just out of reach.

By the time they pulled up at Logan Airport

7:41 PM

The weight of the night still clung to him.

Jamie stepped out, shouldering his bag, his gaze flicking toward the departures board. His flight was already boarding.

He moved on instinct—through security, past the crowds, navigating the familiar steps of travel without really registering any of it.

Then, before he knew it, he was on the plane.

The sound of the engines filled the cabin as Jamie dropped into his window seat, his body finally still, but his mind anything but.

A flight attendant appeared beside him, a polite, practiced smile in place.

"Can I get you anything to drink, sir?"

Jamie glanced up, then back out the window, watching as Boston shrank in the distance.

"Something strong," he said finally, voice low.

The flight attendant blinked, clearly not expecting the blunt honesty, but recovered quickly with a nod.

"Whiskey?"

Jamie shook his head slightly. "Yeah. That'll do."

She disappeared, and Jamie leaned back against his seat, exhaling slowly.

The seatbelt sign flicked on. The flight attendant's voice crackled over the intercom.

The plane took off, pulling him further and further away.

And yet—

Lexie was still right there, lingering in his mind.

"This is going to be a long flight," Jamie muttered absentmindedly.

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

The cabin was dark, the hum of the engines steady, lulling most of the passengers into sleep. Jamie had managed to drift off at some point, arms crossed, head tilted slightly against the window. The whiskey had helped—but not enough. His mind had stayed restless, even in sleep.

Then a voice cut through the haze.

"Is there a doctor on board?"

Jamie stirred, brow furrowing as consciousness pulled him back. A few murmurs rippled through the cabin, the faint rustling of passengers shifting in their seats.

"Any medical personnel on board? We need assistance."

Jamie blinked fully awake. His body reacted before his brain caught up—years of training kicking in like muscle memory. He pushed up in his seat, raising a hand.

A flight attendant spotted him immediately, relief flashing across her face as she hurried down the aisle toward him.

"Sir, could you come with me?" she asked quietly, her voice just above a whisper.

Jamie nodded, already unclipping his seatbelt.

As he stood, stepping into the aisle, the flight attendant leaned in closer, lowering her voice.

"It's the captain," she murmured. "He's not feeling too well."

Jamie's expression focused instantly."Take me to him."

The flight attendant nodded quickly, turning on her heel as Jamie followed her toward the cockpit.

Passengers turned their heads as he passed, eyes flicking toward him, but Jamie ignored them. He wasn't here to explain—he was here to work.

By the time they reached the cockpit, the attendant had already retrieved a small black medical case from an overhead compartment. She handed it to Jamie without a word, her fingers twitching slightly as she stepped aside to let him through.

Inside, the cockpit was tight, filled with the soft glow of instrument panels and the steady voice of the co-pilot communicating with air traffic control. The captain was slumped slightly in his seat, his face pale, his breathing shallow but steady.

Jamie crouched beside him, opening the case with one hand."Talk to me," he said, voice calm but direct.

The captain blinked sluggishly, his eyes unfocused for a moment before he turned his head toward Jamie.

"Feels… tight. Right here." He pressed a hand to his chest, just below his sternum.

Jamie nodded, not reacting outwardly, but his mind was already running through differentials.

"How long?" he asked, already checking the man's pulse at his wrist.

"Maybe… thirty minutes? Thought it was just heartburn."

Jamie felt the pulse—elevated, but not dangerously fast. The skin beneath his fingers was slightly damp, the captain's breathing just a little too controlled—like he was trying not to make it worse.

"Any history of heart problems?"

A pause. Then—

"High blood pressure. Doctor said I should watch my cholesterol."

Jamie exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course."

Has the pain changed? Sharp, crushing, spreading?"

"No. Just… tight."Jamie nodded once. Unstable angina or a mild heart attack. Not life-threatening yet—but it could turn into something worse if untreated.

Without looking away, he turned to the flight attendant.

"Did the kit come with aspirin?"

She blinked, then scrambled to check. After a few seconds, she pulled out a small foil pack.

Jamie took it and tore it open, pressing two tablets into the captain's hand."Chew these."

The captain hesitated. "That bad?"

Jamie gave a short nod. "It's not about bad. It's about smart. Chew."

The captain obeyed, grimacing slightly as the bitter taste spread over his tongue.

Jamie turned back to the medical kit, flipping through the contents. He found what he was looking for—a pulse oximeter and a blood pressure cuff.

He slipped the oximeter onto the captain's finger, watching the numbers flicker before settling. Oxygen saturation: 96%. Good.Next, he wrapped the cuff around the man's arm, tightening it before pressing the pump. The cuff inflated with a low hiss, then slowly deflated.

Jamie read the numbers. 152/90.Not a crisis, but definitely not ideal.

He turned back to the flight attendant.

"Do you have nitroglycerin on board?"

She blinked, then nodded quickly, rummaging through the case again. After a moment, she pulled out a tiny brown glass bottle and handed it over.

Jamie checked the expiration date. Still good.

He turned back to the captain, holding up a small tablet.

"Under your tongue," he instructed. "Let it dissolve. Don't swallow."

The captain hesitated for half a second before obeying.

Jamie watched him closely, looking for any signs of a drop in blood pressure or worsening symptoms.

"What happens now?" the captain asked, voice quieter.

Jamie leaned back slightly, assessing.

"Now, we keep you stable until we land. The aspirin will help prevent clotting. The nitro should relieve the chest tightness. But the second we touch down, you're getting checked out by a hospital."

The captain exhaled slowly, nodding once.

"Guess I'm grounded for a while, huh?"

Jamie huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I wouldn't be planning any more flights for the next few days."

The co-pilot glanced over, his expression still tight with concern.

"Can he keep flying?"

Jamie met his eyes.

"He's stable, but I'd rather he rests. You good to handle landing?"

The co-pilot nodded. "Yeah. I've got it."

Jamie patted the captain's shoulder once—a firm, steadying gesture.

"Just sit tight. I'll check on you in a bit."

The captain gave him a tired nod. "Appreciate it, doc."Jamie stood, closing the medical kit.

"Not a problem."

The flight attendant exhaled, some of the tension finally leaving her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured as she led him back out of the cockpit.

Jamie barely nodded, but he wasn't moving just yet. His gaze flicked back to the captain, still pale but more stable now, chest rising and falling at a steady rhythm.

The co-pilot caught Jamie's look and hesitated for a beat before reaching over, pulling off his headset.

"You want to talk to flight control? The call sign is 247 heavy," he asked, offering it to Jamie.

Jamie took the headset without a word, adjusting the mic before speaking into it, his voice calm, measured.

"Seattle Center, this is Flight 247 heavy. I'm Dr. Knight—a surgeon assisting with an in-flight medical situation. The captain is stable, experiencing symptoms consistent with a mild cardiac event. No immediate distress, but I recommend having medical personnel on standby upon landing. No emergency diversion needed unless his condition worsens. Over."

There was a pause, then a crisp reply crackled through the headset.

"Understood, Flight 247. Medics will be waiting at the gate. Keep us updated on any changes."

"Will do," Jamie responded before passing the headset back to the co-pilot.

The tension in the cockpit had settled. The situation was controlled.

Jamie crouched back beside the captain, watching as he exhaled slowly, some of the strain easing off his face. His breathing had evened out, the nitroglycerin working to relieve the pressure in his chest.

"How are you feeling?" Jamie asked, his tone quieter now.

The captain gave a tired chuckle. "Like I just got told I can't fly my own plane."

Jamie smiled. "Yeah, well, you'll live. So I'd say it's a fair trade."

The captain huffed, shaking his head. His hand drifted toward the armrest, fingers tapping lightly against the leather before his gaze flickered to Jamie.

"I've got a wife back home. And a daughter—high school now. She's a handful."

Jamie glanced at him, the weight in the captain's voice not lost on him.

"Good kid?" Jamie asked.

"Too smart for her own good," the captain muttered.

"Wants to be an engineer. Always asking questions, tearing stuff apart just to put it back together. I swear she's gonna dismantle the whole damn house one day."

Jamie let out a quiet chuckle.

"That bad, huh?"

The captain nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Drives my wife crazy. But she's got that fire, you know? The kind you don't want to put out. Just gotta make sure she doesn't burn herself in the process."

Jamie knew that feeling.

Something about the way the captain spoke—that deep-rooted protectiveness, the unspoken fear of not always being there—it settled in Jamie's chest, familiar in a way he didn't want to think about.

His gaze flickered down, catching movement as the captain shifted slightly. That's when he saw it.

A tattoo, just barely visible beneath the cuff of his uniform sleeve.

A design Jamie recognized instantly.

His expression didn't change, but his mind clicked into place immediately.

"You were Air Force," he said, nodding toward the ink.

The captain glanced down, then let out a quiet chuckle, tugging his sleeve up slightly to reveal the full image—a pararescue emblem.

"Long time ago," the captain admitted.

Jamie nodded once. Yeah. He knew the feeling.

"PJ?" Jamie asked, recognizing the insignia.

"Yeah. Pararescue," the captain confirmed. "Did my time, transitioned to commercial flying." He tilted his head slightly. "You?"

Jamie rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. "Army. Special Ops. Trauma surgeon embedded in the field."

The captain whistled low under his breath. "Damn. You were in it."

Jamie didn't react much, just nodded once. "Yeah."The cockpit fell into a different kind of silence. Not uncomfortable, but heavy. A shared understanding.After a moment, the captain asked, "So, what's harder? Saving lives in a war zone, or dealing with hospital politics?"

Jamie let out a short laugh. "Depends on the day."

The captain huffed, shaking his head. "Civilian life takes some adjusting, doesn't it?"

Jamie looked at him then, something unreadable passing through his gaze.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It does."

Because it never really leaves you, does it?

The muscle memory. The instinct. The way your brain automatically assesses every room you walk into, checks for exits, calculates the worst-case scenario.

You can take the soldier out of the war, but you can't take the war out of the soldier.

The captain must've picked up on something in Jamie's expression, because he let out a quiet breath, nodding slightly."You ever miss it?"

Jamie didn't answer right away.

Because the truth was complicated.

There were parts of it he didn't miss at all—the exhaustion, the blood, the constant edge of survival.

But there were parts of it he did. The clarity. The simplicity. The sense of purpose. The way everything made sense in the middle of the chaos.

Instead of saying all that, Jamie just exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sometimes," he admitted.

The captain nodded like he understood. Because he did.

Jamie checked his watch.

"We land in less than two hours," he said. "You just focus on breathing. I'll be here if you need me."

The captain smiled slightly, eyes already drifting closed. "Appreciate it, doc."

Jamie just leaned back against the bulkhead, arms crossed, settling in to wait.

The hum of the engines filled the space again, steady and familiar.

Seattle wasn't far now.

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

Seattle was cold.

Jamie barely registered it as he stepped off the plane, his bag slung over his shoulder.

The airport was busy—voices blending into the low hum of background noise, travelers rushing past him, the overhead announcements crackling through the speakers.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the exit.

The flight had felt longer than usual. Probably because his mind hadn't stopped replaying the night.

Jamie pushed the thought away as he pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing a familiar number.

It rang twice before Eleanor Knight answered.

"Jamie, dear."

"Just landed," he said, his voice calm but edged with exhaustion.

"Good," Eleanor replied smoothly. "I assume you'll be here soon?"

Jamie exhaled, already making his way toward the parking area.

"Yeah. Just picking up my car now."

His grandmother hummed, something knowing in her tone.

"Long flight?"

Jamie didn't take the bait.

"I'll see you soon."

"Drive safe, dear," she said before the call ended.

Jamie tucked his phone away as he reached the valet station. A young man in a crisp uniform spotted him immediately, straightening slightly as he recognized the ticket number.

"Dr. Knight?"

Jamie nodded.

The valet turned, grabbing a set of keys from the board behind him, then gestured toward a sleek black Aston Martin V12 Vantage, parked neatly under the overhead lights.

Jamie caught the keys out of the air as the valet tossed them, giving a small nod before heading toward the car.

As he slid into the driver's seat, the familiar scent of leather and a hint of cologne filled the space. The door shut with a soft, precise click, sealing him off from the noise of the outside world.

Jamie exhaled, running a hand over his face before pressing the start button. The engine purred to life—smooth, powerful, controlled.

Without another thought, he pulled out of the lot, merging onto the highway.

Seattle's skyline stretched out ahead of him, the city lights reflecting against the damp roads.

The long driveway leading to Knight Manor was lined with old oak trees, their branches swaying gently in the cool night air. The house loomed ahead, grand and timeless, its towering structure bathed in soft golden light.

Jamie pulled the Aston Martin to a smooth stop in front of the entrance, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel.

For a moment, he just sat there.

His hands tightened slightly around the leather, jaw clenched as he gathered himself. It wasn't that he didn't know what was coming—it was that he did.

Exhaling slowly, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

Before he could even reach the steps, the large wooden doors swung open, revealing James, the ever-composed butler who had been with his family since Jamie was a child.

"Good evening, Master James," he said smoothly, stepping aside to let him in.

Jamie gave him a short nod as he passed. "James."

The older man smiled faintly, not missing the exhaustion in Jamie's voice.

"She's in the library," James informed him, as if Jamie didn't already know.

She was always in the library at this time of night.

Jamie muttered a quiet "Thanks," before making his way through the house, his footsteps silent against the polished marble floors.

The manor was exactly as he left it—elegant, untouched, a place frozen in time.

When he reached the library, the soft glow of the fireplace flickered against the walls, shadows dancing across the shelves lined with leather-bound books.

His grandmother sat in her usual chair, a book resting in her hands, posture as poised as ever.

She didn't look up when he entered.

Jamie wasn't surprised.

Without breaking her focus, she gestured toward the seat across from her."Sit."Jamie sighed, running a hand through his hair before doing as she asked.

Finally, Eleanor lifted her gaze from the book, studying him for a long, measured second.

Then, casually—too casually—she asked,"What is the name of your friend?"

Jamie's brow furrowed slightly. "What?"

His grandmother closed the book slowly, resting it on the table beside her before meeting his eyes again.

"The girl," she clarified, her voice impossibly smooth. "The one you were with."

Jamie tensed, but kept his expression unreadable.

"Grandma, I'm tired. And the jetlag—"

"Lexie, wasn't it?" she cut in, unfazed.

Jamie blinked once, shoulders going rigid.

"I want to meet her," Eleanor continued, as if she were discussing the weather. "If she will be bearing the family name, I want to see for myself what you see in her."

Jamie let out a short, humorless laugh. "It's complicated, okay?"

His grandmother simply arched a delicate brow."Complicated?"Jamie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "She lives in Boston. And she's staying there for the foreseeable future."Eleanor didn't react.

Instead, she just smiled.

That small, knowing, infuriating smile.

Jamie hated that smile."Jamie," she said softly, "I have known you your entire life. And I have never seen you smile like you do when you think about her."

Jamie stilled.

His grandmother leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but firm.

"If she is the one, don't let her go."

Jamie swallowed, looking away, but the words had already settled somewhere deep in his chest.

"You will regret it for the rest of your life."

Eleanor held his gaze for another moment before standing, smoothing out the sleeves of her silk robe.

Jamie said nothing.

There wasn't anything to say.

His grandmother simply gave him one last look, then turned and walked out of the room, her presence as effortless as always.

Jamie sat there, staring at the fire, lost in thought.

The flames flickered, shadows dancing over the walls, but his mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere three thousand miles away.

After a long beat, he let out a slow breath and pushed himself to his feet.

Without another glance back, he turned and left the library.

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

Next Day, 6:45 AM

The hospital doors slid open as Jamie Knight stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and freshly brewed coffee filling the air. 

He wasn't thinking about Boston. Or the gala. Or Lexie.

Not thinking about her at all.

The elevator doors dinged open just as Jamie stepped inside, pressing the button for the surgical floor.

A moment later, Derek Shepherd walked in, coffee in hand, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

Derek nodded in greeting. "Welcome back. How was Boston?"

Jamie exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Complicated."

Derek frowned, eyebrows lifting slightly. "Complicated?" He took a slow sip of his coffee. "A gala is complicated?"

Jamie sighed. Here we go.

Derek smirked, sensing blood in the water. "What, did you lose a bet? Spill wine on someone important? Get dragged into a duel over prime rib?"

Jamie side-eyed him. "I don't want to talk about it."

Derek let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "Jamie Knight not wanting to talk? You must have had a terrible time."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "I just need to cut someone open and recalibrate."

Derek chuckled. "Well, that's mildly terrifying."

Jamie turned his head slightly, eyeing Derek. "What about you? You look like shit. Haven't slept?"

Derek took another sip of his coffee, gaze forward, unreadable. Then, with deliberate calm, he muttered, "A gentleman enjoys in silence."

Jamie blinked. Then laughed. Hard. "Where the hell did you get that? That sounds like something Sloan would say."

Derek just shrugged, attempting to keep his face neutral, but the twitch in his eyebrow gave him away.

Jamie grinned, shaking his head. "You're spending too much time with him. It's corrupting you."

Derek sighed dramatically. "I'm deeply wounded by this accusation."

Jamie snorted. "You should be."

The elevator dinged open onto the surgical floor.

As they walked toward the locker room, Jamie pulled his scrubs out of his locker. "You free around noon?"

Derek frowned. "Why?"

"O'Malley's surgery is then," Jamie said, slipping on his scrub top. "I want you to watch. You might learn something from these hands of God." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

Derek huffed a short laugh. "Oh, is that right?"

"Just saying," Jamie said, pulling on his coat. "You could use some inspiration. If you're lucky, I'll let you hold a retractor."

Derek swatted Jamie on the shoulder. "Go away."

Jamie grinned, grabbing his clipboard. "Gotta make rounds. Hopefully, Burke's back on his feet soon—this paperwork is killing me."

Derek shook his head, amused, as Jamie strode off toward the surgical wing.

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

Dr. Miranda Bailey stood in front of the group of interns, clipboard in hand, issuing assignments with her usual no-nonsense attitude.

"O'Malley," she said, eyes sharp as she looked at George. "You're taking the next few days off. Stay with your family."

George hesitated. "Dr. Bailey, I—"

"Not a request," Bailey cut in. "Go."

George swallowed, then nodded.

Jamie walked up just as the assignments were wrapping up. "Bailey," he said. "I want Grey for the O'Malley surgery."

Bailey arched an eyebrow. "You want Grey?"

Jamie crossed his arms. "I also need to talk to Webber and you about the new surgical plan."

Bailey's gaze sharpened slightly. "You're really going through with it?"

Jamie nodded. "Tested it in the cadaver skills lab at Brigham. It worked."

Bailey inhaled, considering for a beat before nodding. "Alright."

Nearby, George shifted uncomfortably. He still looked unsure.

Bailey turned back to the interns. "Karev, you're with Montgomery. Yang, the Pit. Grey—Knight's got you."

The interns exchanged glances, but no one argued.

Bailey snapped her clipboard shut. "Alright, people, move."

Jamie exhaled slightly, glancing toward George, who still seemed deep in thought. He clapped a firm hand on George's shoulder, grounding him for just a moment.

"Let's go, O'Malley," Jamie said, voice low but steady. "I need to take a look at your father before we proceed."

George swallowed hard, then nodded. "Thanks."

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

The room was quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the space as Jamie stood at the foot of the bed, flipping through Harold O'Malley's chart. His gaze was sharp, clinical, but when he looked up, his expression softened—just slightly.

Webber, Bailey, Grey, and George O'Malley were gathered around him, waiting for Jamie to speak.

Harold looked tired—pale, the weight of his diagnosis evident in the lines of his face. But he still managed a small, tired smile as he looked between them. "Alright, doc," he said, voice rough. "Let's hear it."

"The approach is two-phase," Jamie said, his voice level, controlled. "First, we stabilize the tumor using hydrogel injection—reduces the risk of intraoperative bleeding. Then we introduce fluorescent contrast to map every cancerous cell down to the microscopic level."

Webber shifted, arms crossed over his chest. "And you're confident this will work?"

Jamie nodded once. "Tested it in Brigham's cadaver skills lab. It worked."

Bailey exhaled through her nose. "A cadaver's not the same as a live patient."

Jamie met her gaze, unwavering. "I know."

Bailey said nothing, but the tension in the room thickened.

George's fingers tightened around the rail. "But it's… his best shot?"

Jamie turned his head toward Harold O'Malley.

His breathing was steady but weaker than it had been days ago. Time was slipping away.

Jamie nodded. "Yes."

Webber hesitated, scanning Jamie's face like he was trying to pick apart every possibility, every risk. Jamie didn't break eye contact.

Finally, Webber sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Alright. If O'Malley wants it, I won't stand in the way."

Harold, who had been quiet up until now, let out a soft chuckle, voice rasped but warm. "Well, it's not like I have a better offer, do I?"

Jamie shock his head. "No, sir. You don't."

Webber stepped forward, placing the consent form on Harold's tray table. "Sign this, and we'll see you in the OR."

George swallowed hard as Harold picked up the pen, his hands slightly unsteady. His eyes flicked up to meet his son's before putting ink to paper.

It was done.

Jamie, Meredith, Webber, and Bailey stepped into the hallway, the door shutting behind them.

Meredith turned toward Jamie, her brows furrowed slightly. "Has this procedure been done before?"

Jamie shook his head. "A surgery like this? No."

Meredith's lips parted slightly, caught between curiosity and uncertainty. "So… you're saying this has never been attempted?"

Jamie exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No, Grey. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Bailey let out a sharp breath, muttering something under her breath that Jamie didn't bother catching. Webber's expression remained unreadable, his eyes locked on Jamie as if measuring the weight of what was about to happen.

Jamie squared his shoulders. "I need to prep." He turned to Meredith. "Let's go."

As he took a step away, Webber's voice stopped him.

"This better work, Knight."

Jamie paused but didn't turn back. Instead, he gave a short nod and kept walking.