The hospital moved like a restless organism—buzzing, breathing, never still. Morning light barely crept through the blinds of the conference room where Nia sat hunched over a set of scans, her fingers tracing the outline of a distorted aortic arch.
"Coffee?" Meredith asked, stepping in with two steaming cups.
Nia blinked. "Thanks," she said, taking one without looking up. "You ever seen a dissection this high?"
Meredith set her cup down and leaned over. "A few. Not with cerebral branch involvement, though."
"That's what's throwing me," Nia murmured, her photographic memory churning through dozens of similar cases, flipping through her mental Rolodex of surgeries. "Teddy said the tear starts in the ascending aorta and extends into the brachiocephalic artery."
"That's a mess."
"That's a death sentence," Nia said, voice tight. "Unless…"
Bailey entered before Nia could finish.
"Dr. Altman wants you both scrubbed in by noon," she said, her eyes flicking between them. "She requested you specifically, Adisa."
Nia froze. "Me?"
"Your reputation is starting to precede you, intern." Bailey raised a brow. "Don't let it go to your head."
---
OR 3 – The Case
The patient was a 45-year-old former marathon runner named Lorna Vick, whose collapse at her son's soccer game revealed the ticking time bomb in her chest.
Inside OR 3, the team assembled: Teddy Altman at the head, Derek on cerebral standby, and Nia—mask on, hands scrubbed, eyes blazing with concentration.
"This is high risk," Teddy said, glancing at the residents and interns as they positioned around the table. "The dissection is threatening cerebral perfusion. We're cooling her core temperature and initiating deep hypothermic circulatory arrest. You make a mistake, she dies."
Nia nodded. Her brain had already built the blueprint.
As the bypass machine whirred, Nia visualized the steps: clamp, snare, excise, replace. She anticipated every twitch of the artery before Teddy even called it. Her hands moved with a calmness that belied her title.
Teddy turned to her once they reached the brachiocephalic artery. "Suggestions?"
"Cut 3 millimeters above the bifurcation," Nia said without hesitation. "The wall's thinnest there, but it gives us optimal room to suture in the Dacron graft without compromising the innominate."
Derek's brows lifted. "You're certain?"
"I saw it," she replied.
"Then do it," Teddy said, stepping back.
Nia made the incision with surgical precision. No tremor. No second-guessing. Just instinct and visualization, as if the body before her had already told her the story.
The room was still. Then Teddy spoke again.
"She's perfusing. Brain's responding. You just saved her life."
---
Gallery – Watching Eyes
Bailey watched from the observation deck with Meredith beside her.
"She's got it," Bailey muttered. "Whatever 'it' is."
Meredith didn't take her eyes off Nia. "I haven't seen someone that calm since Cristina."
"She's more intuitive than Yang," Bailey said. "Less hungry. That kind of gift…" Her voice trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
Gifted people didn't always survive hospitals like Seattle Grace Mercy West.
---
Locker Room – The Aftermath
Hours later, Nia sat in the locker room staring at her hands. There was no blood on them now, but her mind kept replaying the surgery. The silence. The pressure.
Micah entered, sweaty from rounds, still in scrubs.
"Hey," he said, towel over his shoulder.
Nia didn't move. "I don't know what just happened. That was my first cardio assist."
"And you were brilliant."
She looked at him, breath catching. "I felt… outside of myself. Like I wasn't even there. I don't know if that's amazing or terrifying."
He dropped to the bench beside her, brushing his fingers against hers.
"It's both."
She turned to him, jaw tense. "I can't keep doing this. I keep getting called out for things I can't explain. People are starting to look at me like I'm not just lucky—but strange."
"You are strange," he said softly. "But in the kind of way that makes people better. That makes this place better."
His fingers moved from her hand to her cheek. Her breathing hitched. Something inside her cracked—under the weight of expectations, exhaustion, brilliance.
Their lips met before either could overthink it.
---
On-Call Room – R-18
They made it to the on-call room before the rush of urgency became uncontrollable. Nia barely locked the door before Micah pinned her gently against it, his lips trailing down her neck, finding the soft spot beneath her ear.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
"Don't you dare."
Clothes were discarded in haste, scrubs falling in silent heaps to the floor. Nia's hands moved over his chest, memorizing the map of scars and skin, letting herself be present—not visualizing, not predicting—just feeling.
Micah's hands gripped her hips as he laid her down on the lower bunk, his mouth reverent against her skin. He kissed her like he was memorizing her too, like this moment might vanish.
When he slid into her, she gasped—soft, sharp, trembling. He moved slow, patient at first, letting the tension build like a crescendo. Her hands gripped his back, nails scraping lightly. She met every thrust with one of her own, lost in sensation.
The rhythm deepened. Micah pressed their foreheads together, breath ragged. "You feel like fire."
Nia arched, cried out softly, her voice muffled against his throat.
And when she came—spine arching, pulse fluttering—it was like something unlocked inside her. Not just pleasure. Freedom.
He followed moments later, groaning low as he stilled inside her.
After, they stayed like that—tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin, breath syncing.
No words were needed.
---
The Hall – Derek Notices
Later that night, Nia walked the corridor back to the neuro wing. Derek spotted her and fell into step beside her.
"You were calm in that OR," he said. "Most people freeze their first time in cardio."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
She stopped walking. "Why are you watching me?"
"Because I see something familiar," he said. "You see things before they happen. That's not common."
"I don't want to be the girl with the 'gift.' I want to be the doctor who knows what she's doing."
"Then make them the same thing."
She blinked at him. "You really think I could do this? Neuro. Cardio. Trauma."
"You're already doing it."
---
Cristina's Wall Builds
Across the hospital, Cristina watched from afar. She saw Nia walk with Derek. Saw Teddy exchange glances with her in the hallway. She heard the whispers. The intern who sees surgeries before they happen.
She was used to being the exceptional one. The one people feared and admired.
Now, Nia was being handed opportunities Cristina had bled for.
The jealousy curdled in her stomach.
---
The Board – New Opportunities
The surgical board shifted again.
Upcoming hybrid procedure. Neuro/Cardio/Trauma crossover.
Team assigned:
Shepherd
Altman
Hunt
Adisa
Nia stared at the board, heart pounding.
Micah appeared beside her, grinning. "Told you. They're finally seeing it."
She swallowed. "What if I fail?"
"Then you fail," he said. "And I'll still be there. But I don't think you will."
She smiled, barely.
For the first time, she wasn't chasing greatness.
It was chasing her.
---
End of Chapter 5