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Chapter 7 (Grey's anatomy - New Cardio God)
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 19:29:11 +0000 UTCThe Aston Martin purred through Seattle’s early morning streets, its sleek curves cutting through the gray dawn like a scalpel. Inside, the leather seats were warm, the air tinged with James Blackwood’s cologne and the faint scent of Lexie Grey’s lavender shampoo. Lexie sat in the passenger seat, sipping lukewarm coffee from a paper cup, her eyes on the road ahead—but her thoughts were miles away.
What do I even tell Meredith?
James’s hazel eyes flicked from the road to her face. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his grin softened as he caught the nervous twitch at the corner of her lips. There was a teasing edge in his voice.
“You’re quiet, Grey. Plotting how to dodge Meredith’s interrogation?”
Lexie’s cheeks flushed. Her laugh was shaky but genuine. “Is it that obvious? I didn’t go home last night, and Meredith’s… nosy. She’s going to want details.” Her voice dropped as she glanced at her lap. “I can’t exactly say I was with my secret attending boyfriend, can I?”
James chuckled, his hand brushing her knee—a gentle touch that sent a spark through her. “Lex, you’re overthinking it. Just tell her the truth. You’re dating me. Done.” His voice was light but firm. “You’re acting like it’s a federal crime.”
Lexie’s heart twisted. Meredith and Derek—her sister and the chief of neurosurgery—were practically hospital legends. Knowing that didn’t make her own secret feel any less terrifying. She thought about Meredith’s house, her refuge since Derek had found her crying after Sadie’s surgery, her hands still stained with blood. Meredith’s grudging acceptance was fragile; one wrong move could break it.
“Maybe… maybe I am overreacting a little,” she murmured.
James nodded, his gaze returning to the road. “I’ve been thinking. I’m done with the Archfield. Hotels are fine for a week, but I’m here for good now, Lex. We should find a place—our place. Somewhere we can be ourselves, without sneaking around.” His voice was earnest, a rare vulnerability breaking through his charm. “What do you think? A house, maybe? Or an apartment?”
Lexie’s breath caught, her eyes widening. A home with James felt like a dream. “James, that’s… I mean, it sounds amazing.”
He shrugged, his grin crooked and undeterred. “I want a home, Lex. With you.” His hand squeezed her knee, a teasing nudge. “Unless you’re planning to stay with Meredith forever. Or… who was your previous roommate? You mentioned someone, right?”
Lexie froze, her heart lurching. She hadn’t told James about George O’Malley, not fully. She mentioned that he was renting a apartament with someone, but she hadn’t specified that it was a man. Their Skype calls had danced around her living situation, with her focus always on intern drama or his surgeries in Boston. Now, the truth slipped out before she could stop it. “Oh, um, yeah. It’s... George. George O’Malley. He’s a resident, super nice. We were splitting rent on a small apartment.”
James tightened his grip on the wheel, his brow furrowing and his grin fading into a sharp expression. “George? A guy? Lexie, you were living with a man, and you didn’t think to mention it?” His voice was low, laced with surprise and a hint of annoyance, his hazel eyes darting to her, searching for answers. “What’s the deal? Is he gay? Straight? Why did you keep this from me?”
Lexie’s stomach dropped, and her laugh came out nervous and high-pitched. “No, no, James, it’s not like that! George is just… George. He’s sweet, kind of awkward, and totally harmless. He’s not gay; he was just my roommate back when I was a brand-new intern! I haven’t lived with him since Sadie’s accident, after Derek took me to Meredith’s house.”
James’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed, though his tone remained measured, as if he were a surgeon trying to mask his unease. “Lexie, I’m your boyfriend—I should know this.” He glanced at her, his annoyance softening into something deeper, almost hurt. “What’s he like? Did he have a thing for you? Does he know about us?”
Lexie’s breath hitched, her voice frayed but firm. “A thing for me? James, no way! George was too busy failing his boards or pining over Meredith to even notice I was there! He doesn’t know about us—nobody does!” Her eyes shimmered with vulnerability as her hands twisted in her lap. “I’m sorry; I should’ve said something. I wasn’t hiding it, I swear. It was just… a place to sleep. I’m with you, only you.” Her voice softened, a quiet confession, her gaze steady despite her trembling.
James exhaled long and slow, his shoulders loosening, though a flicker of unease lingered in his eyes. “Alright, Lex, I believe you. But I need to know this stuff. If some guy was your roommate, even back in the day, I want to know he’s not… circling.” His lips quirked into a half-smile.
Lexie’s laugh burst free, shaky but bright, her hand playfully swatting his arm. “You’re totally jealous, Blackwood, and it’s weirdly adorable.” Her smile turned sly, her eyes glinting through her nerves. “George is a non-issue. You’re… everything.” She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing against his, a trembling anchor. “And a home with you? I’m in, but slow—like ‘Seattle traffic in the rain’ slow. Deal?”
James’s grin bloomed, warm and unguarded, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “Traffic slow? Deal. And maybe I’m a little jealous. You’re too damn lovable, Grey.” He winked, the tension easing.
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At Seattle Grace, the corridors buzzed with the usual frenetic energy, Meredith Grey and Cristina Yang walked side by side toward the surgical wing, their footsteps echoing in a rhythm that belied the heavy silence between them. The air was thick with unspoken words, their recent fight—a clash of egos and emotions—lingering like a storm cloud. Meredith's jaw was set, her eyes fixed ahead, while Cristina's face was a mask of stoic indifference, her arms crossed tightly over her scrub top. Neither would yield, and the rift between them seemed to widen with every step.
At the nurse’s station, a hub of organized chaos, the residents gathered, their scrub caps and clipboards signalling another demanding day. George O’Malley, his earnest face lit with a rare moment of cheer, spotted Izzie Stevens flipping through a patient chart. He leaned in, his voice warm. “Happy birthday,” he said, catching her off guard.
Izzie blinked, surprised, a genuine smile piercing her distracted haze, Denny’s unseen shadow flickering in her eyes. “What? Oh, thank you,” she replied, her voice warm but fleeting, her thoughts adrift.
Dr Miranda Bailey stormed into the scene, her petite frame radiating authority as she clapped her hands to command attention.
“Alright, people, focus! We’ve got a full day, and I need your heads in the game, not your grudges.” Her eyes flicked to Meredith and Cristina, a warning, then swept the group. “O’Malley, you’re with the cardio department. Assist Dr Blackwood.”
George’s eyes widened, a grin blooming. “Yes, Dr. Bailey! Cardio? That’s incredible!” He bounced slightly, his excitement palpable, seeing a chance to work with James Blackwood. “I’m gonna learn so much today.”
Cristina’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing, her voice cutting like a blade. “O’Malley? In cardio?” Her arms were uncrossed, her posture radiating frustration. “No offence, George, but I’m better at cardio than you. I’ve logged more hours and nailed more procedures. I should be in cardio.” Her words were sharp, her competitive edge honed by her recent septal myectomy triumph.
Bailey glared, her expression intense and filled with authority. “Yang, are you questioning my assignments? This is a teaching hospital, not your personal cardio playground. Everyone is expected to learn every speciality—cardiology, trauma, neuro. O’Malley is in cardiology to grow, not to steal your spotlight.” Her eyes fixed on Cristina, daring her to respond. “And speaking of the spotlight, I hear you performed a septal myectomy, Yang—solo. While you were supposed to be on punishment for picking the solo surgery winner, not operating on hearts.”
The residents froze, their attention now fully on Cristina. Alex’s jaw tightened, Meredith’s brow furrowed, and Izzie looked on with wide, intrigued eyes, captivated by the unfolding drama. George’s grin faltered, his excitement dimmed by Bailey’s stern tone.
Bailey stepped closer, her voice sharp yet filled with disbelief. “You took the lead on a high-risk cardiac procedure, Yang? That’s reckless. And Dr. Blackwood allowed you to do it? I can’t comprehend what he was thinking. You’re skilled, Yang, but you were on punishment and not cleared to operate solo on a septal myectomy. What if there had been a bleed you couldn’t control? Or if you had nicked a valve? You put a patient’s life and your career at risk.” Her voice rose, frustration spilling over. “Blackwood’s judgment baffles me. Handing a resident a scalpel like that—with no oversight—while you were disciplined? That’s not teaching; that’s insanity. I expected better from both of you.”
Cristina's lips twitched as pride battled defensiveness, but she held her ground, her eyes flickering with the memory of Ethan Carter's heart. Her hands were steady, and the monitors confirmed their success. "The patient's stable, Dr. Bailey," she said, her tone clipped but firm. "I handled it."
Alex snorted, his voice filled with envy. "Yeah, Yang gets to be the cardio hero while I’m stuck with a below-the-knee amputation?" He crossed his arms, his scrub cap askew. "I was chosen for the solo surgery, and I ended up with a basic chop job. Yang is out here performing heart surgery like it’s nothing, even while she's on punishment. That’s just ridiculous."
Izzie tilted her head, her voice curious yet edged with tension. “A septal myectomy? Cristina, that’s… huge. You really did that solo?” Her eyes sparkled with intrigue, her distraction from Denny fading in the face of the hospital drama. “How did you pull that off?”
Cristina shrugged, her tone smug but guarded. “Nailed it. The patient is fine.” Her eyes flicked toward Bailey, a spark of defiance underlying her bravado as she avoided details, keeping the focus on her skills.
George, regaining his enthusiasm, chimed in, “Cardio’s intense. I’m going to soak it all up.” His earnestness drew a chuckle from Izzie, but Cristina rolled her eyes sharply, her frustration still palpable.
Bailey sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Enough, Yang. You’re with Grey in the trauma bay with Hunt. Stevens, the clinic budget is due—focus. Karev, you’re with Sloan on post-ops. O’Malley, don’t let cardio down.” She turned to Meredith and Cristina, her voice firm. “Both of you, trauma bay, now. The Chief is waiting, and I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”
Meredith and Cristina exchanged puzzled glances. “What?” Meredith asked, her voice strained, the rift between her and Cristina noticeable.
“Why both of us?” Cristina echoed, her irritation lingering.
“Yes, both!” Bailey snapped, waving them off. “Go!” She then turned to a nurse with a lab question, her authority unshaken.
Izzie nudged Alex, her voice low as she nodded toward Meredith and Cristina heading to the trauma bay. “They’re both silent and rage-y,” she whispered, a mix of amusement and concern evident as her birthday warmth faded into the hospital drama.
As the group dispersed, Cristina muttered about trauma while George headed toward the cardio wing, his excitement undimmed.
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In a quiet corridor tucked away from Seattle Grace’s frenetic pulse, vending machines hummed softly, their fluorescent glow casting shadows on the linoleum. Callie Torres and Mark Sloan stood in a rare bubble of calm, their conversation a seamless blend of surgical precision and personal undercurrents. Callie’s dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp with the thrill of a challenge. “Got a parathyroid tumor for you,” she said, a spark lighting her voice. “Tricky resection could be a real puzzle.”
Mark leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his scrubs taut across broad shoulders. One brow arched his grin equal parts intrigue and mischief. “Oh, yeah? That’s my kind of morning, Torres.” His tone was playful, but the gleam in his eyes hinted at a restlessness beyond the OR.
Before Callie could dive into specifics, Lexie Grey bounded into their moment, her eager energy like a jolt of caffeine cutting through the hospital’s hum. Her ponytail swung, her wide eyes darting between them, a mix of ambition and nervous excitement. “Tumor removal?” she blurted, her voice bright but tinged with the strain of her hidden secrets. “My resident bailed, and I’m free. Can I help?”
Callie’s face softened, her smile warm and encouraging. “Sure, Grey. Extra hands are always good.”
Mark stiffened, his jaw tightening as he fixed Lexie with a guarded stare, his usual charm tempered by restraint. “Hold up. You’re observing only, Grey. No touching, no scalpel, nothing. Got it?” His voice was firm, almost clipped, but a flicker of something softer—longing, quickly suppressed—crossed his eyes. Derek's warning echoed in his mind, reminding him to keep his distance, especially since Lexie claimed she had a boyfriend.
Lexie nodded, her enthusiasm undimmed, though her smile faltered slightly under Mark’s intensity. “Got it, Dr. Sloan. Just watching.” She turned to Callie, her voice steadying. “Where’s the patient?”
Callie gestured down the hall. “Ultrasound department. Call and check if they’ve taken her yet.”
Lexie flashed a quick nod and hurried off, her sneakers squeaking against the floor, her ponytail bouncing with purpose. As her figure vanished around the corner, Callie turned to Mark, her eyebrow arched, her voice low and pointed. “Okay, what’s with the cold shoulder? You’re acting like Lexie’s radioactive.”
Mark’s grin faltered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tic betraying his discomfort. He glanced away, his fingers clenching briefly before he forced a shrug. “It’s nothing,” he said, but his tone carried a defensive edge, undercut by a softer sting. “She’s got a boyfriend, alright? Some graphic designer named Tom. Dropped that bomb on me herself.” His voice aimed for nonchalance, but his jaw ticked, a flash of jealousy betraying the facade. “Guess Little Grey’s taken.”
Callie’s eyes widened, a laugh bursting out before she could rein it in. “Lexie? A boyfriend? Since when?” She crossed her arms, her amusement laced with curiosity. “And why do you sound like you’re ready to fist-fight this Tom guy, Sloan? Got a crush on our intern?”
Mark scoffed as he leaned back against the wall, a grin returning to his face but not quite reaching his eyes. “Crush? Please, Torres. I’m just… surprised. She doesn’t seem like the type to settle down with a graphic designer, you know? The guy probably designs cereal boxes for a living.” His tone was teasing, but an edge lingered, a crack in his swagger as he recalled Lexie’s earnest lie in the hallway. Her words felt like a barrier he couldn’t cross—not with Derek’s warning echoing in his ears.
Callie shook her head, her smile wry but tinged with concern. “You’re pathetic at hiding it, Mark. Be professional, okay? She’s an intern, boyfriend or not. Don’t make this messy.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes sparkled with the ease of their friendship, a safe space for calling out his nonsense.
Their banter was sliced clean through by Sadie Harris, who sauntered over with a confidence that shifted the air like a sudden gust. Her dark hair framed a sly grin, her eyes glinting with mischief as she reached out, her fingers brushing Callie’s hair to pluck a speck of lint, her touch deliberate, lingering a beat too long. “Hold still, Torres,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk, her gaze locking with Callie’s in a bold, unspoken challenge. “Just a little lint.”
Callie froze, her breath hitching, her composure crumbling under Sadie’s unflinching stare. “Uh… thanks,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing as a nervous laugh escaped, her hand instinctively smoothing her hair where Sadie’s fingers had been.
Sadie stepped back, unfazed, her grin widening. “Ultrasound’s backed up,” she said, her tone casual as if she hadn’t just flipped Callie’s world upside down. “Results in half an hour.”
Callie nodded, her voice tripping over itself. “Right. Uh, tell Grey. And, um, let Dr. O’Malley know when you know, okay?” Her words tumbled out, her usual authority buried under a wave of flustered heat.
Sadie sauntered off, her stride all confidence, leaving a charged silence in her wake. Mark, watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow, his grin spreading like wildfire. “Professionalism, huh, Torres? Looks like you’re drowning in it.”
Callie’s eyes widened, her voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation as she swatted his arm. “Shut up, Sloan! Did you see that? That wasn’t in my head, right? She just—” She gestured wildly, still processing Sadie’s audacity, her cheeks pink.
Mark chuckled, his tone rich with knowing humor. “Told you, these interns are trouble. Stalkers with scalpels, every last one.” He pushed off the wall, his amusement a thin mask over the lingering ache of Lexie’s “boyfriend,” the hospital’s tangled web of secrets tightening around them all.
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In a quiet corridor near the cardio ward, where the hum of monitors and distant gurney wheels formed a restless undercurrent, Dr James Blackwood stood outside his office, his navy scrubs crisp, his hazel eyes scanning a tablet with focused intensity. Patient charts were stacked neatly on a nearby counter, their weight a promise of the high-stakes day ahead. George O’Malley approached, his steps quick and eager, his face lit with a grin that could’ve powered the hospital’s generators.
“Dr. Blackwood!” George called, his voice brimming with excitement as he stopped short, clutching a notepad like a lifeline. “I’m your resident today, and I just—wow, this is such an honor. Working with you, the head of cardio, a Harper Avery winner? I mean, it’s huge. I’m ready to learn everything you’ve got to teach.”
James looked up, his lips curling into a warm, amused smile, his Boston charm softening the edges of his professional demeanor. George’s earnestness was infectious, a reminder of why he loved teaching. “Easy, O’Malley,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. “You’ll wear yourself out before we even scrub in.” He picked up two thick patient files from the counter and handed them to George, his eyes glinting with purpose. “We’ve got a big day. Two heart transplants, back-to-back. You up for it?”
George’s eyes widened, his grin stretching impossibly wider as he took the files, their weight grounding his excitement. “Two heart transplants? Are you kidding? I’m so up for it. This is… this is why I’m here, Dr. Blackwood. Thank you for this chance.”
James chuckled, clapping George on the shoulder. “Good. Study those charts. We’re saving lives today, not just learning.” His smile lingered, but before he could elaborate, Richard Webber rounded the corner, his broad frame filling the corridor, his expression a storm cloud of authority and frustration.
“Blackwood,” Richard said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the air like a scalpel. “A word.” His eyes flicked to George, who froze, clutching the files, then back to James, his gaze unrelenting. “You let Yang perform a septal myectomy. Solo. Without my clearance, without oversight, and while she was on punishment for the solo surgery mess. What the hell were you thinking?”
George shrank back, his excitement dimming under Richard’s intensity, but James didn’t flinch. His smile faded, replaced by a steely confidence, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked on Richard’s. “Chief, I was thinking I had a resident ready to step up,” he said, his voice calm but unwavering. “Cristina Yang’s one of the best I’ve seen. I was in that OR, controlling every move. She nailed it—patient’s stable, gradient’s down. You should be thrilled to have a resident like her, not questioning my call.” His tone held a quiet challenge, his Harper Avery pedigree bolstering his defiance.
Richard’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a growl. “Thrilled? You risked a patient’s life and her career. Punishment means discipline, Blackwood, not handing out high-risk procedures like candy. You’re head of cardio, not the king of this hospital.”
James’s eyes narrowed, but his confidence didn’t waver. “Discipline doesn’t mean stifling talent, Chief. Yang’s a surgeon, not a clerk. I made the call, and I’d make it again.” He held Richard’s gaze, the tension crackling between them like a live wire.
Before Richard could respond, Dr Miranda Bailey appeared, her steps heavy with purpose, her face etched with urgency. She clasped her hands tightly, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. “Chief, Blackwood, I’ve got bad news,” she said, her words slicing through the standoff. “Jordan Kenley had a massive coronary. He was gone before he hit the floor.”
The air shifted, the weight of her words settling like a stone. George’s breath caught, his files sagging in his grip, while Richard’s shoulders slumped, his anger giving way to a flicker of grief. James’s expression softened, his defiance replaced by quiet respect.
“Kenley?” he said, his voice low. “Damn. Was not he head of paediatrics?.”
Bailey nodded, her eyes searching Richard’s face. “His wife’s on her way. She’ll want to hear from you, Chief—something about his legacy, decades of service.” She paused, her brow furrowing as Richard’s gaze drifted, unfocused. “Chief?”
James seized the moment, his voice gentle but firm. “My condolences, Chief. Kenley’ll be missed.” He glanced at George, his tone shifting to urgency. “O’Malley, we’ve got transplants to prep. Sorry, Chief, we’re on a clock.” He offered a respectful nod, his apology polished but strategic, and gestured for George to follow.
George hurried to keep up, clutching his files tightly. His excitement was dampened by the news but reignited by James’s determination. As they disappeared down the corridor, Bailey stood next to Richard, her frustration growing as he turned away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. The loss of Kenley, a cornerstone of Seattle Grace, weighed heavily on everyone. Yet the hospital continued to operate, carrying both grief and ambition in equal measure.
