Chapter Three — Falling into Old Habits

Seattle mornings were sharp and crisp, the kind of cool air that bit at your skin but left you more awake than caffeine ever could. Nate Mercer adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, falling into step beside Derek Shepherd as they walked toward the hospital.

"Do you ever stop smiling?" Nate asked, side-eyeing Derek as the other man radiated his usual golden retriever energy.

Derek shot him a look, the corner of his mouth quirking up further. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's unsettling," Nate replied, deadpan. "I keep expecting a Disney bird to land on your shoulder."

Derek laughed, an easy sound that reminded Nate too much of med school and the nights they'd spent trying to outdo each other in everything from surgical precision to ordering takeout. "Just admit it," Derek said, nudging him lightly. "You missed me."

"Hmm," Nate hummed noncommittally, narrowing his eyes at the street ahead. "Did I?"

"You did," Derek said confidently.

Before Nate could think of a suitably biting reply, Derek continued, his tone more thoughtful. "Do you still ride?"

It caught Nate off guard. "Ride what?"

"Your motorcycle," Derek said, as if it were obvious. "You used to show up to med school every morning like something out of a James Dean movie."

A flicker of a grin crossed Nate's face, though he tried to hide it. "I haven't had a bike in years. London traffic is murder."

"Shame," Derek replied. "It suited you."

Nate raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at him. "Are you flirting with me, Shepherd? This early in the morning?"

Derek smirked but didn't answer, his silence saying more than words ever could.

Before Nate could push the conversation any further, Derek's voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Morning, Dr. Bailey," Derek said as they approached a corner where Miranda Bailey was standing, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed in concentration.

Bailey didn't even look up. "Shut up."

Nate's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Derek seemed entirely unfazed, as though this was a daily occurrence.

"You know I'm an attending, right?" Derek said, his tone light but with just enough edge to remind Bailey of his rank. "Which means you work for me."

Bailey finally glanced up, her eyes narrowing as if to say, And your point is? "I know I've forgotten something," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Something's happening today. I know I should know what it is, but I just" She shook her head in frustration.

"Nice talking to you, Dr. Bailey," Derek said, starting to step into the crosswalk.

Nate lingered, watching Bailey with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You okay, Dr. Bailey? You look like you're solving a murder in your head."

Bailey snapped her fingers as if something was just out of reach. "It's right in front of my face. I know it is."

Derek had already moved ahead, stepping into the street.

"Doctor!" Bailey suddenly shouted, her hand shooting out to grab Derek by the sleeve.

Nate barely had time to process her tone before the sound hit him; wheels spinning, pedals creaking, and the unmistakable hum of chaos heading straight for them.

A swarm of amateur cyclists barreled through the intersection like a tornado on two wheels. Nate blinked as two riders veered too close, clipping each other and skidding to the ground in a tangle of limbs and metal.

"Holy Sh—" Nate started, cutting himself off as another biker narrowly avoided the fallen pair, only to crash into a mailbox on the other side of the street.

Bailey let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Now I remember. Dr. Shepherd, watch out!"

Derek had frozen mid-step, the scene unfolding before him like some bizarre fever dream. "What—"

"Idiots on bikes," Bailey snapped, her grip still firm on his sleeve. "That's what I forgot."

"You didn't think to mention it before I walked into the street?" Derek asked, his tone sharp but laced with disbelief.

"Excuse me," Bailey shot back, her voice brimming with sarcasm. "I was busy trying to remember what was so important about today."

Nate leaned against the streetlamp, his arms crossed as he surveyed the carnage with barely concealed amusement. "Are they kicking each other?"

"Looks like it," Derek muttered, watching as one cyclist shoved another into a parked car.

"I've got questions," Nate said, his tone dry. "But I'm not sure I want answers."

Bailey let go of Derek's sleeve, stepping back and shaking her head. "I don't have time for this nonsense," she muttered, already moving toward the hospital entrance.

"Is this a Seattle thing?" Nate called after her.

Bailey shot him a look over her shoulder. "Only when the universe hates me, Dr. Mercer."

As she disappeared into the hospital, Derek turned to Nate, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. "Still want that motorcycle?"

Nate snorted, shaking his head. "Not unless it comes with armor and a death wish."

They stood there for a moment, watching as yet another cyclist veered too hard and toppled over the curb.

"Maybe I'll stick to walking," Nate said finally, his voice laced with laughter.

"Good call," Derek agreed, his grin widening.

And with that, they stepped off the curb, carefully this time and headed toward the hospital, leaving the chaos behind them.

Nate Mercer found himself standing to the side, scanning the latest intake sheet when Derek Shepherd walked past, his face a mix of calm and focus. They shared a brief nod before being pulled into the same trauma room.

The gurney burst through the doors, flanked by Izzie Stevens and Cristina Yang. The man on the stretcher was deathly pale, his lifeless body barely responding as the paramedics transferred him to the bed. His face was unrecognizable under bruises and blood.

"Unidentified John Doe, mid thirties pedestrian," Cristina rattled off as they worked to stabilize the patient. Her voice was brisk and clinical, but there was an undercurrent of urgency. "Hit by a motorist swerving to avoid a bike. GCS 3, pupils fixed and dilated. Atropine given for a pulse in the forties. BP 183 over 112—"

"and a gram of Phenytoin," Izzie cut in, her voice high pitched but steady. She was trying her best to keep up, her hands fumbling slightly with the IV line as she spoke.

Burke strode in, his commanding presence palpable. His sharp eyes swept over the scene, taking it all in. "Is he corked?"

"Looks like," Derek answered, stepping forward to examine the monitors. His tone was clipped but even, as though he'd seen this scenario play out a hundred times before.

"The bike race claims its first victim," Burke muttered, shaking his head. He glanced at the patient briefly before turning to Derek. "I ought to make my Triple A repair after all."

Nate, standing slightly off to the side, arched an eyebrow. "Bike race? Since when is a bike race a blood sport?" His attempt at humor fell flat in the tense room, though Izzie let out a quiet, nervous laugh.

Burke didn't respond, already moving toward the door. Derek straightened, removing his gloves with a sigh. "Do an EEG and confirmatory tests," he said. His voice was firm, but there was something almost weary in his tone. "If he doesn't respond, six hours. Declare him."

Izzie froze, her wide eyes flicking between Derek and Nate. "Declare him? Declare him what?"

"Brain dead," Cristina replied bluntly, her tone devoid of any softness. She didn't even look up as she reached for the patient's chart.

Izzie's jaw dropped slightly, her hands clenching around the edge of the gurney. "But he's still warm," she protested, her voice trembling. "He's still here. How can you just..."

"Call it?" Nate interjected, his voice calm but tinged with an edge of resignation. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Izzie's. "It's not about giving up, Stevens. It's about accepting what's already happened."

"But how can you know for sure?" Izzie asked, her voice rising. "He's just lying there. What if—"

"There is no 'what if,'" Cristina snapped, cutting her off. Her sharp tone left no room for argument. "He's brain dead. It's over."

Izzie recoiled slightly, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Nate sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure if he was more frustrated with Cristina's bluntness or the sheer weight of the situation.

"Stevens," he said softly, his voice lowering. "I know it feels wrong. I know it feels... impossible. But this is the reality of what we do. Sometimes, all the science, all the effort, it's not enough."

Izzie didn't respond, her gaze dropping to the floor as she fought to hold herself together.

Derek, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his tone softer than before. "She's not wrong to question it," he said, glancing at Nate. "It's hard. It should be hard."

Nate nodded, though his expression remained tense. "Doesn't make it any easier to hear," he murmured.

Cristina let out a huff, clearly impatient with the emotional turn the conversation had taken. "I'll get started on the EEG," she said, turning on her heel and leaving the room without another word.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nate lingered by the monitors, his eyes scanning the patient's vitals even though he already knew what the outcome would be.

As they both went to leave, Izzie finally spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if he has family out there?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable.

Nate glanced at her, his expression softening. "If he does, we'll do everything we can to find them," he said. "But right now, we have to focus on the patient in front of us."

Izzie nodded, though her shoulders remained tense.

Nate let out a long breath, leaning against the counter as he rubbed the back of his neck. Derek was still there, watching him with a knowing expression.

"You okay?" Derek asked.

"Are any of us ever okay in situations like this?" Nate replied, his voice laced with bitterness.

Derek didn't respond, but there was an understanding in his gaze that didn't need words. After a moment, Nate pushed off the counter, straightening his posture.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, more to himself than to Derek.

And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving Derek to follow. The day was far from over, and the gray areas they'd just navigated were only the beginning.

The hallways of Seattle Grace bustled with their usual chaos—nurses rushing with charts, gurneys squeaking under the weight of incoming patients, and interns darting about like caffeinated shadows. Nate Mercer kept a brisk pace, his tablet tucked under one arm as he reviewed his latest consult notes. Neuro had been a constant whirlwind since he transferred to Seattle, but if anything, the chaos kept his mind off other matters like his illustrious history with Derek Shepherd.

As if summoned by sheer thought, Derek appeared at the end of the corridor, walking toward him with that infuriatingly casual grin plastered across his face. Coffee cup in hand, hair slightly tousled, Derek looked far too relaxed for someone in a hospital full of people on the brink of collapse.

"Mercer," Derek called out, his voice lilting in a way that felt just shy of teasing. "You look busy. What a shock."

"Shepherd," Nate replied evenly, not breaking stride.

Derek quickened his pace to fall in step beside Nate, clearly undeterred. "I was heading to Neuro. Thought I'd catch you on the way. You're always working; you'd be around here. I thought I'd save time but not trying to find you "

"Nice, What is it you wanted to tell me? Something non important?," Nate said, arching an eyebrow. "Not unless you've suddenly developed a brain worth examining."

Derek barked out a laugh, and Nate had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his smirk from showing.

"Harsh, Mercer. You're lucky I find your sarcasm endearing."

"Lucky isn't the word I'd use," Nate muttered under his breath, finally slowing as they approached the John Doe's room.

Derek leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "Come on, don't pretend you don't miss me at least a little. I remember how much you used to love my charm."

Nate stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look at Derek with a flat expression. "Your charm?" he repeated, his tone cutting. "Pretty sure that's what you used to call Addison before you left her to come here."

The easy grin faltered on Derek's face, but he recovered quickly, holding up his coffee cup like a shield. "Touché," he said lightly, though his gaze lingered on Nate for a moment longer.

"Exactly," Nate said, turning and pushing open the door to the patient's room.

Inside, Izzie Stevens and Cristina Yang were mid-argument.

"I'm just saying," Izzie insisted, her voice rising slightly, "he could wake up. What about a miracle? There are medical miracles, you know."

Cristina let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "Oh my god. It's not a miracle; it's biology. You can't just sit here hoping the coma fairy is going to wave her wand and fix everything."

Before Izzie could respond, Derek cleared his throat from the doorway, making both interns whip their heads toward him.

"Miracles happen," Derek said simply, stepping into the room. "People do wake up. That's why we run a series of tests over a set number of hours. So, when we call time of death, we know we've done everything in our power to make sure it's actually his time of death."

He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at Izzie. "But there isn't going to be any miracles here. This is the hard part. To stand around as surgeons and not cut. That's what 'do no harm' means."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Wish he'd just go to the light already so I can get on another case."

Izzie stared at her, scandalized. "How can you say that?"

"Oh, I'm the devil now?" Cristina retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Because I'd rather be in surgery than standing watch over the death squad? It's depressing."

Derek and Nate exchanged a glance, and Nate stepped forward, fixing Cristina with a pointed look. "Depressing, sure," he said, his tone sharp enough to command attention. "But part of your job. We don't get to pick and choose what's convenient."

Cristina shrugged, unbothered. "Thanks for the lecture, Dad."

Nate didn't flinch, but Derek couldn't help a small laugh under his breath.

"Look," Izzie interjected, her voice tinged with frustration. "He belongs to someone. You don't just buy new sneakers for no reason. And someone stitched that tear in his shirt. And he has one of those electronic key cards. An hour ago, he was out there, alive. To simply stand here and wait for him to die—"

Cristina cut her off smoothly. "—Would be a waste of life."

Izzie nodded, relieved. "Exactly."

Cristina gave a thin smile. "It would also be a waste of organs." Without another word, she turned and walked out, leaving Izzie looking horrified in her wake.

"Charming, isn't she?" Nate said dryly.

"I'm standing right here," Cristina called from the hallway, not even breaking stride.

Derek shook his head, suppressing a laugh as he turned to Izzie. "Stevens, take a deep breath. Go run the confirmatory tests and the EEG. Let me know what you find."

Izzie hesitated, glancing at the patient again before nodding reluctantly and hurrying out of the room.

Nate crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on the John Doe for a long moment. "Who are you," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Derek, now standing beside him, glanced over. "What are you thinking?"

"That someone's going to miss him when he doesn't come home."

Derek nodded, his expression serious. "That's the worst part, isn't it?"

Nate let out a quiet sigh, stepping away from the bed and heading toward the door. "Yeah," he said, his voice soft. "That's always the worst part."

Derek followed him into the hallway, their steps falling into rhythm once again.

After a few moments of silence, Derek nudged Nate lightly with his elbow. "You know, I missed this."

"Missed what?" Nate asked, not looking at him.

"This," Derek said, gesturing between them. "Us. You making me feel like a terrible person with a single look. Me making you laugh when you're trying not to."

Nate shot him a sidelong glance. "I'm not laughing."

"You're thinking about it, though," Derek said with a grin.

Nate rolled his eyes but couldn't quite hide the small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Keep dreaming, Shepherd."

"Oh, I will," Derek replied, his tone warm and teasing as they disappeared down the corridor together.

Nate had lost what time of day it was and all he could focus on was the usual controlled chaos: pagers beeping, the soft thrum of footsteps, the occasional murmur of medical jargon. Derek Shepherd leaned against the wall near the nurse's station, arms crossed, his trademark smirk firmly in place. He spotted Nate Mercer rounding the corner, flipping through a patient chart.

"Nate," Derek called out, his tone light but unmistakably loaded.

Nate glanced up, pausing mid-step. His face betrayed a flicker of reluctance before he continued walking toward Derek. "Shepherd," he replied, his voice crisp.

"I've got a story for you," Derek began, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside Nate as they headed down the hallway.

"Should I be concerned?" Nate asked, eyes scanning the chart in his hands.

"Not unless you're in the habit of kissing your patients," Derek teased, the grin on his face growing wider.

That caught Nate's attention. He lowered the chart and gave Derek a sidelong glance. "Excuse me?"

"Meredith," Derek said, as if that explained everything.

"What about her?"

"She got kissed by a patient today," Derek announced, his voice laced with mock disbelief. "Middle of the hospital. Just leaned in and kissed her."

Nate blinked, the absurdity of it sinking in. "You're kidding."

"Nope." Derek shook his head, clearly enjoying himself. "Can you believe it? A patient. The audacity."

Nate suppressed a laugh, raising an eyebrow. "And why, exactly, are you telling me this? Should I be jealous?" He paused, "Are you jealous?"

Derek paused mid-stride, his grin faltering for a split second. "Jealous?"

"Well, you clearly seem invested," Nate said dryly, resuming his pace.

Derek caught up quickly, his smirk firmly back in place. "Jealousy isn't really my thing," he said, brushing off the comment.

"That's funny," Nate quipped, "because if I remember med school correctly, you were plenty jealous when it came to me."

Derek opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut just as quickly. He wasn't expecting Nate to go there, not so directly, anyway. "That was a long time ago," Derek said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"Was it?" Nate shot back, his tone sharper than he intended.

They walked in tense silence for a moment, the weight of their history hanging between them like a third presence.

"Look," Derek said finally, his voice taking on that familiar persuasive tone, the one that always managed to worm its way under Nate's defenses. "I'm just saying, kissing a patient? Bold move. But I've gotta admit, I admire the guy's guts."

Nate let out a short, humorless laugh. "You would."

"Come on," Derek said, nudging Nate's shoulder with his own. "It's a little funny."

Nate stopped walking, turning to face Derek fully. "What's funny is that you're using this story as an excuse to talk to me," he said, his voice low but firm.

Derek's smirk wavered, his expression flickering with something unspoken, regret, maybe, or guilt. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Nate didn't answer right away. He wanted to be angry, wanted to call Derek out for the way he always seemed to reel him back in, even when he knew better. But Derek's blue eyes held that familiar spark, the one that always made Nate's resolve crumble.

"It's exhausting," Nate said finally, his voice quieter now.

"What is?" Derek asked, taking a step closer.

"This," Nate gestured between them, his hand dropping back to his side. "Whatever this is. You left, Derek. You made your choice."

Derek's jaw tightened. "I know I screwed up."

"Yeah," Nate said, his laugh bitter. "You did."

For a moment, Derek looked like he might actually apologize, but instead, he offered a small, self deprecating smile. "You know, I almost died today."

"I know, Derek. I was there."

Nate's eyes darkened for a split second, an emotion flaring in their depths before he hid it behind a practiced mask. "You're exaggerating, Derek. I was there." He softened his tone, the edge of his words betraying the way the memory made him feel. "I saw it happen."

Derek's face fell slightly, the smirk faltering as he studied Nate's reaction. "Right. Yeah, I guess you did." He scratched at the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably.

Nate, still standing with arms crossed, let out a short laugh. "You really are something else, you know that?" The bite of sarcasm was laced with a thread of warmth. "Almost dying and turning it into a story you tell at parties. Classic Shepherd."

"I can't help it," Derek said, trying to match Nate's banter, but his voice came out softer, edged with something raw. "Life's short. You know that better than anyone."

Nate's expression hardened at the reminder, and he glanced away, eyes landing on the opposite wall as if it might hold the answers he sought. "Is that what this is about? You nearly getting squished by a bike? Because, Derek, it was never about that. You know that, right?"

Derek frowned, the warmth in his eyes now flickering with something that looked dangerously close to regret. "No. It's not about that," he admitted, voice low. "It's about wanting to take a second chance where I can. With you."

Nate's jaw tightened. He wasn't expecting this open vulnerability from Derek, the man who had walked out of his life, leaving Nate in the echoing silence of memories that hadn't yet faded. The confession was almost enough to make him forget about the hurt, the late-night phone calls left unanswered, the hollow ache that came when he thought about the way Derek had left him for Addison. Almost.

"Derek, you left me," Nate said, the words sharper than he intended. "You chose her. And now, you're standing here, acting like it was all just a mistake?"

"I came back for the chance to fix what I broke. Even if it's just between us." He paused, letting the silence stretch between them. "I know I don't deserve that chance, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for it."

The hallway seemed to shrink, the noise around them fading as Nate stared at Derek, the air between them thick and charged. There was a flicker of old emotions there, memories of late nights, shared laughs, the warmth of a touch that had felt like home. But there was also the bitterness that came with betrayal, the sharp sting of abandonment.

"You always were a hopeless romantic, Shepherd," Nate said finally, his voice quieter. "But what makes you think I'm ready to forgive you?"

Derek smiled, small and lopsided, the kind that made Nate's chest tighten. "I don't think you are. Not yet. But I'm hoping you'll get there. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that I'll always be your undoing, Nate."

Nate's heart clenched, the words cutting through the armor he'd built over the years. He looked at Derek, really looked at him, at the man who once meant everything, who now stood before him, vulnerable and unapologetically honest.

"You're impossible," Nate whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the storm of emotions inside him.

"I know," Derek said, grinning, that familiar teasing edge back in his voice. "But you love it."

Nate scoffed, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. "Don't get too cocky, Shepherd."

Derek laughed, the sound low and warm. "Too late for that, Mercer."

And for the briefest of moments, they were two doctors, two men who shared history and hope, and the echo of what might have been.

The quiet hum of the hospital was almost deafening in contrast to the chaos that had unfolded earlier. Nate Mercer adjusted his clipboard, glancing sideways at Cristina Yang as they approached the waiting area where the family of the John Doe, now identified as Kevin Davidson was seated. The room felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were grieving.

Mrs. Davidson sat hunched over, her hands trembling as they clutched a tissue that had long since been soaked through. Beside her, a little girl sat silently, her legs swinging back and forth in an almost rhythmic motion. She clutched a stuffed rabbit tightly to her chest, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at the floor.

Nate exhaled, the clipboard in his hands feeling heavier than it should. He wasn't new to this, breaking devastating news, guiding families through the labyrinth of loss, but it never got easier. And it didn't help that Cristina was the one spearheading the conversation.

"Mrs. Davidson," Cristina began, her voice clinical, detached, her gaze steady on the grieving widow. "I know this is overwhelming, but we need to go over a few things regarding Kevin's wishes."

Nate shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he caught the sharp edge to her tone. Cristina had always been brilliant, but her bedside manner left something to be desired. She didn't sugarcoat, didn't soften the blow. It was one of the things that made her such a stellar surgeon, but in moments like these, it felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of knives.

"This form," Cristina continued, sliding the paper across the table, "is your consent for organ donation. His heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys. These donations can save multiple lives."

Mrs. Davidson nodded slowly, her fingers trembling as she picked up the pen and signed the form. Her little girl glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly as if she could sense the gravity of what was happening. Nate's chest tightened.

Cristina barely paused before moving on. "Now, I need to ask a few more questions."

Nate opened his mouth to interject, to ease into the conversation, but Cristina was already pressing forward.

"Are you willing to donate his corneas?"

Mrs. Davidson blinked, her gaze snapping up to Cristina's impassive face. "You want his eyes?" Her voice wavered, thick with disbelief.

Cristina didn't miss a beat. "Corneal transplants can give someone back their sight."

The words were true, factual, but they hung in the air like cold steel. Mrs. Davidson hesitated, her lip trembling before she nodded. "I suppose that's okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she scribbled her signature.

Nate watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. He could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken grief that threatened to consume the room. He knew Cristina meant well, but her delivery was too sharp, too clinical for the fragile emotions at play.

"What about his skin?" Cristina asked, her tone unchanging.

Mrs. Davidson's head shot up, her eyes widening. "What?"

Cristina's expression didn't falter. "It's used to help burn victims."

"You want to cut off his skin?" Mrs. Davidson's voice cracked, and her composure began to crumble. "What about the funeral? You want me to have a funeral, and have people look at him, have his daughter look at her father and he doesn't have any skin?" Her voice broke completely, tears spilling down her cheeks as she gripped the table for support. "It's his skin."

The little girl clutched her stuffed rabbit tighter, her lip quivering as she looked up at her mother, the confusion and fear evident on her small face.

Nate couldn't take it anymore. He stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Cristina's arm to stop her from continuing.

"Mrs. Davidson," Nate said softly, his voice calm and measured. "I'm so sorry. I know this is an impossible situation, and the last thing we want is to make it harder for you. Please take your time. You don't have to make every decision right now."

Cristina glanced at him, her brow furrowing, but she didn't argue. She stepped back slightly, letting Nate take the lead.

"We ask these questions because, sometimes, donations can save lives in ways we never thought possible," Nate continued, his eyes locking with Mrs. Davidson's. "But I understand how overwhelming this must feel. It's okay to say no. It's okay to take a moment to breathe."

Mrs. Davidson's shoulders shook as she nodded, her hands gripping the tissue so tightly it threatened to tear.

Nate knelt down slightly, lowering himself to the little girl's level. He offered her a small, kind smile. "Hi there," he said gently. "That's a really nice bunny you've got. Does it have a name?"

The little girl hesitated before whispering, "Poppy."

"Poppy," Nate repeated, nodding. "That's a perfect name. You know, your dad is a hero. He's helping so many people right now. That's something really special."

The girl didn't say anything, but her grip on the stuffed rabbit loosened slightly.

Nate stood back up, his gaze returning to Mrs. Davidson. "We're here for you," he said softly. "Whatever you decide, we'll respect it."

Mrs. Davidson sniffled, nodding as she wiped at her tears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Cristina shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the wall. Nate shot her a pointed look, and she rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.

As they left the room, Nate turned to Cristina, his voice low. "You need to be more careful with how you approach these conversations."

Cristina raised an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. "I was just doing my job."

"There's a way to do your job without bulldozing over people's feelings," Nate said, his tone sharper than he intended.

Cristina shrugged. "Feelings don't save lives. Donations do."

Nate shook his head, his jaw tightening. "Sometimes, Cristina, it's not just about the medicine. It's about the people."

Cristina didn't respond, but the flicker of guilt in her eyes told Nate his words had hit their mark.

As they walked away, the weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a reminder that even in a place where life and death were daily occurrences, the human element was something they could never afford to forget.

The hospital locker room was eerily quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint shuffle of papers in the hallway the only sounds. Nate Mercer finished shrugging into his jacket, his bag already slung over one shoulder. It had been a long day, and the last thing he wanted was company.

Naturally, Derek Shepherd chose that moment to make his entrance.

"I thought you'd be halfway to your car by now," Derek said, his voice smooth and teasing as he leaned casually against the doorframe.

Nate didn't bother looking up, his hands busy double-checking his bag for his keys. "Shift's over. I'm leaving. What do you want, Derek?"

"Oh, don't sound so thrilled to see me," Derek replied, stepping further into the room. His tone was light, but there was something in his eyes, something unspoken that Nate pretended not to notice. "You know, it's rude to run off without saying goodbye."

Nate let out a short, humourless laugh. "Goodbye," he said flatly, zipping up his bag.

Derek tsked, shaking his head. "You're no fun today. What happened to the Nate Mercer who used to know how to smile?"

"Maybe he learned that smiling around you usually led to trouble," Nate shot back, finally turning to face Derek.

Derek grinned, unfazed by the jab. "Trouble? I think you mean fun."

Nate rolled his eyes, slinging his bag higher onto his shoulder. "I'm not doing this with you, Derek. Not tonight."

"Oh, come on," Derek said, stepping into Nate's path as he tried to leave. He was close now, too close, and Nate could feel the familiar pull of him, like gravity. "You've been avoiding me all day."

"I've been working," Nate corrected, though the lie tasted bitter even to him.

"And now you're done," Derek countered, his voice softer. "So let me take you to dinner."

Nate's eyebrows shot up, his expression incredulous. "Dinner? Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"You're unbelievable," Nate muttered, shaking his head as he tried to step around him. But Derek was quicker, moving to block him again, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"Okay, no dinner," Derek said, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "How about drinks? Just one. I'll even let you pick the place."

Nate glared at him, though he could feel his resolve cracking with every second that passed. "What's your angle here, Derek? What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," Derek said, his grin softening into something more genuine. "I just want you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Nate's heart skipped a beat, and he hated how easily Derek could still get to him.

"You don't mean that," Nate said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Derek stepped closer, his hand still wrapped loosely around Nate's wrist. "What if I do?"

Nate shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "This is just a game to you. It always has been. You get bored, and you come find me, and then—"

"Stop," Derek said, his voice firm but not unkind. He let go of Nate's wrist, but instead of stepping back, he closed the distance between them entirely. "This isn't a game. Not with you."

Nate opened his mouth to argue, to say something cutting that would put Derek in his place, but the words died in his throat as Derek reached up to cup his face. The touch was warm, grounding, and it made Nate's knees feel dangerously weak.

"Derek," Nate warned, though it came out more like a plea.

"Tell me to stop," Derek murmured, his voice low and filled with something that made Nate's chest ache. "If you don't want this, just say the word, and I'll walk away."

Nate stared at him, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Derek could hear it. Every logical part of his brain screamed at him to step back, to end this before it could start. But then Derek leaned in, his forehead resting against Nate's, and all rational thought flew out the window.

"Damn it," Nate whispered, before closing the gap between them.

It was hard, fast, and angry years of tension exploding all at once. Derek responded immediately, his hands finding Nate's waist and pulling him closer. Their movements were frantic, almost desperate, as if they were trying to make up for all the time they'd wasted.

Derek's lips were soft but insistent, moving against Nate's with a precision that made his head spin. When Derek bit lightly at his bottom lip, Nate couldn't stop the quiet groan that escaped him, and Derek took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Nate's hands slid down to Derek's chest, and for a brief moment, he considered pushing him away, ending this before it spiraled out of control. But then Derek tilted his head, kissing him in that maddeningly perfect way that only Derek could, and Nate was lost all over again.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads still pressed together. Nate's lips tingled, and he could feel the heat radiating from Derek's skin.

"Come home with me," Nate said before he could think better of it.

Derek's eyes searched his, and for a moment, Nate thought he might say no. But then Derek's lips curved into a small, almost tender smile.

"Lead the way," Derek said softly.

Nate nodded, bending down to grab his bag before heading for the door. Derek followed close behind, his presence a steady weight at Nate's back.

As they stepped into the quiet corridor, Nate felt a flicker of doubt creep in, but Derek's hand brushing against his was enough to chase it away.

For now, he would let himself have this. Let himself forget, just for a little while, the scars Derek had left behind.

Because Derek Shepherd, for all his flaws, would always be his undoing.

AUTHORS NOTE.

natederek kiss natederek kiss!!! they have so much tension!! i know it's so quick !! but i love them so much !! and i'm very much still recovering from their kiss !!

there's so much tension in their relationship and their past and years of unresolved history, and it's messy and complicated, but so so good!

it's only going to get worse from here. please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, vote, comment etc.

and thank you for reading <3