deadwolf07
patreon
Chapter 1 (Grey's anatomy - New Cardio God)
🕑 Added 2025-04-28 12:41:15 +0000 UTCThe morning was quiet, but for Izzie Stevens, it echoed with memories louder than any voice. She stood in front of her closet, unmoving, her fingers gently grazing a folded piece of fabric. It was the sweater she had knitted for Denny; time had dulled the colours but not the scent. She brought it to her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Lavender and wool. It hit her like a freight train, a mix of warmth, grief, comfort, and heartache. Denny was gone. And yet... not.
Elsewhere, Callie Torres lay in bed, staring at the space beside her. The indentation on the pillow was still fresh, but the person who had once warmed that space was gone. Erica Hahn had vanished — without a goodbye, without a reason. Callie tried to will the silence into an answer, but none came.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Wake up!" Cristina Yang's voice sliced through the air like a scalpel as she burst into Meredith Grey's bedroom with two coffees.
Derek groaned, "No."
"Yes," Meredith mumbled, sitting up and accepting the cup.
Cristina's face was impassive as she dropped the news. "Hahn's gone off the surgical board. Her surgeries are cancelled. I don't know why or how, but she's just... gone."
Derek rubbed his face, muttering that it was a shame. Hahn was talented. But Cristina and Meredith weren't talking to him, and with a sigh, he climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.
A loud knock sounded at the front door, breaking the morning haze. Derek opened it to find a woman with bright eyes and wild energy filling the doorway before she stepped inside.
"Is Grey home?" she asked, then pushed past him without waiting. "Death!" she called.
She ran into Meredith's bedroom and tackled her in a hug, her voice filled with laughter and nostalgia. "Death!"
"Die!" Meredith cried out, grinning as she hugged back. "Oh my God, it's been—"
"Forever."
Cristina watched, confused, as the stranger plopped down between them.
"I'm Sadie," she said cheerfully, giving Cristina a once-over. "And who are you?"
Cristina blinked. "Cristina."
Sadie nodded approvingly. "Cool."
Later, Cristina and Derek nursed their coffees in the kitchen while Meredith and Sadie's laughter filtered down from upstairs.
"They went backpacking together through Europe," Cristina explained. "Before med school. That woman shoved me out of bed."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to my world."
"She calls her 'Death.' Meredith's name isn't Death. It's Meredith."
"They're close enough to kick us both out of bed."
Cristina frowned. "Meredith never even mentioned her."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the walk to the hospital, Sadie walked beside Meredith like they'd never lost touch.
"I can't believe you're here," Meredith said, shaking her head.
"You're the reason I went to med school, you know. I figured if Death could do it, so could I."
Cristina's eyes narrowed. "Meredith is not a slacker."
Meredith chuckled. "Sadie worked in a morgue for a while."
"Yeah," Sadie said brightly. "All the cutting without the rules. But I missed the blood. The moving kind."
Cristina muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "yay."
They passed Izzie, standing motionless outside the hospital entrance.
"Hey, you coming?" Alex asked her gently.
"I just... need a minute."
"Hahn's gone. You don't have to keep reliving Denny," he said, trying to reassure her.
"You don't understand."
"I might if you talk to me."
But she didn't. And he left her there.
Inside, Denny was already waiting for her.
"You look good," he said with a smile. "Tired, but good."
"I'm walking straight ahead. Alone," Izzie murmured, pretending he wasn't there.
"You can't ignore me forever."
She didn't answer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the hallway, Cristina spotted Lexie Grey rubbing her arm. Band-aids covering what looked like hastily treated scratches.
Cristina's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
Lexie jumped. "Uh, my kitten. Crazy scratcher."
Cristina blinked. "You have a cat?"
Lexie hesitated. "I mean, a hairbrush. Crazy scratchy hairbrush."
Cristina stared at her like she'd just started speaking fluent nonsense. "I can't have you acting weird right now. There's a solo surgery up for grabs. You're off. Go to Plastics."
Lexie looked disappointed, sighed and turned, only to nearly bump into Alex.
Alex approached Cristina. "You know anything about a heart surgeon named Blackwood?"
"James Blackwood? he's amazing. Youngest winner of the Harper Avery Award with a low mortality rate. Wait — he's coming here?" Cristina's eyes lit up
"Today. Piggyback heart transplant." Alex said.
Lexie freezes mid-step, her eyes widening as she whips back around, her voice tight with shock.
"Wait, you said James Blackwood? Is he coming here? But he works in Boston?"
"Yup, and guess who's on his case? Me." Alex said, shooting Kristina's triumphant smirk before turning and leaving.
"Why am I not on that case?" murmured Kristina before leaving.
Lexie stands rooted, her expression a mix of confusion and quiet panic. Her hand drifts back to her scratched arm.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In another hallway, Derek caught Meredith on her way to rounds. "So... Sadie. Is she your pre-Cristina Cristina? You're gonna tell me why she calls you Death."
"The adventures of Death and Die are better left untold," Meredith said dryly.
Cristina appeared beside them, speaking in a code Derek couldn't decipher.
"Translate that for me," Derek said, puzzled.
"Lexie may be a secret cutter." Meredith sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she translated. "Still no clue why Hahn quit, either."
Derek slowed his pace, his expression shifting from playful to concerned, his blue eyes searching her face. "Mer. Lexie's your sister."
Meredith's steps faltered, a flicker of defensiveness tightening her jaw. "Yeah, and? What're you getting at?"
"You should check on her. She's your family," Derek said, his voice low but steady, each word landing like a quiet challenge.
Meredith fell silent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Richard Webber walked briskly, his face etched with the strain of leadership. Dr Miranda Bailey matched his pace, her arms crossed, while Alex Karev trailed behind, his expression a mix of curiosity and defiance. Richard's voice was low and urgent as they navigated the hallway's bustle.
"Bailey," Richard said, "we're languishing at number twelve—twelve! We need a win, and Blackwood's it. Show Dr Blackwood what Seattle Grace is made of. I've offered him a big title, research funds, and the works, but we've got to seal the deal. We're wooing him, Bailey, to make sure he stays."
Bailey nodded, her lips pursing. "I can woo with the best, sir. But he'd better bring more than a shiny CV."
The elevator doors opened on the third floor. The hum of morning activity continued uninterrupted until the man himself stepped out, drawing attention like gravity in human form.
Dr James Blackwood stood six feet two, his frame lean and sculpted, the kind of strength honed by years of discipline, a veteran's regimen of workouts carved into muscle and sinew. His dark hair swept back with effortless precision, framing a handsome face—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes that burned with a quiet intensity, equal parts resolve and shadow. Navy scrubs draped his physique with casual authority, a tablet tucked under one arm as he moved, his stride smooth yet purposeful, claiming the space without a word.
"Dr. Webber," James said, extending a hand as the Chief approached. His voice was smooth. "James Blackwood. It's an honour to be here."
Richard shook his hand firmly, his expression of relief tempered by caution. "Dr. Blackwood, welcome to Seattle Grace. We're thrilled to have you. Your reputation precedes you."
James's lips curved into a polite smile. "I hope to live up to it. I understand you have a piggyback heart transplant scheduled today. I want to review the patient's chart and meet the team."
"Of course," Richard said, gesturing toward Bailey, who stood nearby, her arms crossed and her eyes appraising the new arrival. "Dr. Bailey will be your guide today. She'll introduce you to the residents and get you up to speed."
Bailey stepped forward, her demeanour professional but guarded. "Dr. Blackwood, Welcome to Seattle, Grace." her tone was neutral but curious.
He extended a hand with a smile. "Dr. Miranda Bailey. I've heard about you, that you're the heart and soul of this hospital, Fierce, sharp, and unyielding in your standards,"
She blinked, confused by the fact that James had heard about her. "Well… thank you. I'll be escorting you today this way. Karev, get Dr. Dixon the latest labs. Stevens, let's prep the patient, please. We've got work to do."
As James followed Bailey, the whispers among the staff grew louder. Across the hall, Lexie Grey stood frozen, her chart slipping slightly in her hands. She'd been updating a patient's vitals when she saw him—a face she hadn't expected to see, not here, not now. Her heart raced, a mix of joy and confusion clouding her thoughts. James hadn't told her he was coming to Seattle. Their last conversation, two nights ago over a shaky Skype call from Boston, had been about her intern struggles. How was he here?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a consult room, James pored over the chart for Clay Bedonie, a Navajo man whose failing donor heart demanded a new transplant.
Bailey stood nearby, flanked by Alex Karev and Izzie Stevens, both assigned to the case. Alex leaned against the counter, arms crossed, sizing James with scepticism and intrigue. Izzie seemed elsewhere, her gaze flickering to a corner.
"Mr. Bedonie's case is sensitive," Bailey said, her voice firm. "He's got deep beliefs about the dead. We need to honour that while keeping him alive."
James nodded, his tone steady. "I've seen it before. In Africa, I had patients who needed rituals to accept treatment. I want to meet Clay. Hear him out."
Alex snorted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Good luck. Guy's convinced his heart's got a ghost hitchhiking in it."
James's eyes flicked to Alex, calm but piercing. "Dr. Karev, right? Sometimes, listening is the best tool we've got. Let's see what he says."
Izzie shifted, her fingers tightening around her pen. "He sees hitchhikers," she said softly, almost to herself. "Because of the donor's heart. It's… real to him."
James turned to her, his voice gentle but professional. "Dr. Stevens, you've got a rapport with him. That's gold. I want you in the room when I talk to him."
Izzie nodded, her stomach twisting. Denny's presence—or her delusion—was growing harder to shake, and James's steady gaze made her feel exposed like he could see the cracks she was hiding.
Group of doctors arrieved room of Clay Bedonie.
"hello Mr.bedonie, I am James Blackwood your surgeon" James said with a smile
Clay's dark gaze lifted, meeting Blackwood's with a steady, searching intensity.
Blackwood set the chart on the bedside table, his voice low and steady, carrying the faint lilt of Boston softened by years in harsher places. "Mr. Bedonie, your donor heart's failing—advanced deterioration. A new transplant is our best shot to keep you here. But I want to hear where you're at with this."
Clay drew a slow breath, his words measured, like stones placed with care. "I respect what you're trying to do, Dr. Blackwood. Keep me alive. But it's not just about living." He paused, his eyes searching Blackwood's, seeking a bridge across their worlds.
Izzie stepped closer, her voice soft but urgent, as if she could weave their truths together. "He's saying he'd rather live a shorter life unhaunted than a longer one that is." Her gaze flicked to Blackwood, then back to Clay, a plea in her eyes. "I'm not saying I agree, I just…" She faltered, retreating to the corner, her clipboard a shield. "I'll stand over here."
Clay nodded faintly, a glimmer of gratitude crossing his face, but his focus remained on Blackwood. He shifted, the bed creaking under his weight, his voice growing firmer. "The heart you take out—what happens to it?"
Blackwood leaned forward slightly, hands clasped, his hazel eyes attentive, as if the room held only Clay's words. "Standard protocol? It goes from the OR to pathology, then medical waste." He paused, catching the flicker of dismay in Clay's eyes, and softened his tone. "But I've worked with patients who need more than that. Tell me what you need."
Clay's brow furrowed, his voice tightening with quiet urgency. "I need that heart back. For a ritual. My people—Navajo—we don't touch the dead. Their spirits cling follow you. I need it burned, by my medicine man, to set it free. Otherwise, it's still with me."
Blackwood nodded slowly, his mind turning over Clay's words, memories of his journey to africa flickering. "I hear you," he said, his voice steady, grounding. "I was in africa for one year, I saw patients who wouldn't heal without their traditions honored. How about that? We can give the old heart for your ritual, then put in the new one, give you a shot at living."
Clay's gaze hardened, his head shaking with deliberate resolve. "No. It's not that simple." His voice was a river cutting through stone. "A new heart means a new ghost. I'd still be haunted. I can't carry another."
Blackwood's jaw tightened, but his eyes held Clay's, unwavering, searching for a path. "Mr. Bedonie, I want to respect your beliefs—fully. If we can't do the, we need to talk about what that means. A shorter life, like Dr. Stevens said." He glanced at Izzie, then back at Clay. "But if there's a way to align your ritual with a new heart, to make it feel safe, I'm listening."
Clay studied him, his expression softening, caught off guard by Blackwood's willingness to bend. "A nine-day ritual," he said, voice low but clear. "My medicine man burns the old heart. I don't touch it. For a new heart… I'd need to know it won't hold me to another spirit."
Blackwood nodded, decisive. "Then we start there. We'll arrange for your medicine man to handle the old heart, done right. For the new one, we'll work together—make sure it's a gift, not a burden. Fair?"
Clay's eyes held Blackwood's for a long moment, then he gave a slow nod, a spark of trust flickering. "I'll think on it."
Izzie exhaled, relief mingling with dread, her own ghosts—Denny's voice, his warmth—stirring in the shadows. Blackwood's calm had shifted the room, a veteran's steadiness that made Clay listen, but she felt exposed, as if he'd seen her cracks, too. Bailey's lips curved faintly, approving, but her gaze lingered on Blackwood, measuring his promise.
Blackwood rose, chart in hand, his voice gentle but firm. "I'll check in soon, Mr. Bedonie. We'll figure this out together." He turned to Izzie, his hazel eyes kind but sharp. "Dr. Stevens, you've got a rapport here. Stay close to him."
Izzie nodded, her stomach twisting, Denny's whisper faint but persistent: I'm here, Izzie. As Blackwood and Bailey stepped out, Clay's gaze drifted to the window, his fingers resuming their quiet tracing, a man caught between worlds, tethered by a hope he hadn't expected.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Lexie Grey sure knows how to wrap herself around a suture," Mark said, his voice low, a grin tugging at his lips as he twirled a pen.
Derek's brow furrowed, his tone sharpening. "Mark, Meredith had some concerns."
Mark's grin widened, undeterred. "That's not news."
"About Lexie," Derek pressed, stepping closer, voice dropping to a warning. "About Lexie. Lexie is fragile, and getting involved with a superior might make her more fragile."
Mark raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading to mock innocence. "I was talking about her sutures, Shepherd."
Derek's eyes narrowed, unamused, his voice cutting through. "Keep Little Sloan out of Little Grey, that's my point."
Mark froze, a laugh breaking free, sharp and incredulous. "What?"
"Little Sloan does not enter Little Grey," Derek said, slower, a glint of mischief in his eyes despite the warning. "Are we clear?"
Mark leaned back, grinning, his voice dripping with offence. "Did you just say little? Okay, that's just creepy… and inaccurate. Big Sloan, thank you very much."
Derek's lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through, but his gaze held firm, the warning unshaken.
They both turned at the sound of footsteps behind them.
And froze.
James Blackwood stood there, tablet tucked under his arm, sleeves rolled up, face unreadable.
He had definitely heard every word.
"Blackwood," Derek said, recovering a second too late. "Wow. I didn't know you'd—when did you get in?"
Mark blinked. "Holy hell. Is this real?"
James let the silence stretch just a second longer than necessary before he finally spoke. "Dr. Shepherd. Dr. Sloan."
"Derek," Derek said quickly. "Just Derek."
James offered a polite nod. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," Mark said, a touch too casually. "We were just... You know. Talking about interns. The usual chaos."
James said nothing. Just met Mark's eyes for one long, measured beat.
Derek coughed. "Seriously, what are you doing here? Last I heard, you were on your way to Africa."
"I had options," James said calmly. "Seattle made the right offer."
Mark let out a low whistle. "Damn. So this is really happening."
"I didn't expect to see you two still working together," James said, arching a brow with surgical precision.
Derek chuckled. "Some habits die hard."
"You were my intern," Derek added, his tone turning nostalgic. "Back at Columbia. God, you were what—twenty-four?"
James nodded. "Twenty-two, technically."
"You never said more than two words back then unless you were scrubbing in."
Mark laughed. "And even then, it was usually just 'You're standing in my light.'"
James allowed a ghost of a smile. "I said what needed to be said."
Derek's eyes gleamed. "And now you've got a Harper Avery. The youngest to ever win it."
James didn't acknowledge the compliment. "I'm here to work."
"Still as warm and cuddly as ever," Mark muttered under his breath.
Derek cut in again. "Seriously, though — Seattle Grace is lucky to have you. You planning on staying?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"How today goes," James said smoothly.
Neither of them knew what that meant — if he was talking about the transplant, the hospital's performance, or something else entirely.
But James knew exactly what he meant.
He'd overheard them. Every word about Lexie. Every nickname. Every implication.
And he wasn't going to say anything.
He didn't need to.
Because James Blackwood didn't start fires.
Derek crossed his arms, a grin lingering. "Seattle's lucky to have you, James.. We gotta grab a drink soon—catch up, properly."
"Sounds good, but I'm still finding my way. No map for this place yet." James tone stayed easy, sidestepping the invite.
Mark smirked, "We'll show you the ropes, Blackwood. Drinks, soon—trust me, you'll need 'em here."
"Guess I'll see you around, then," Blackwood said. He turned, white coat swirling, and strode down the corridor.
