Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Addison POV

Early mornings were not a luxury for Addison Montgomery — they were a ritual. A deliberate assertion of control in a world that never stopped moving. While others dragged themselves into the day, Addison had already claimed it. One hand wrapped around a ceramic mug of imported espresso, the other leafing through surgical briefs with clinical precision. Every movement was purposeful. Every breath intentional.

Today, she needed that control more than ever.

In a few hours, she would walk into Seattle Grace Hospital not as a guest, not as a visiting surgeon — but as Chief of Surgery, replacing Dr. Richard Webber on temporary leave. And Addison didn’t do anything temporarily. If she was going to lead, she would lead fully — with clarity, with fire, and with the full weight of her name and reputation behind her.

The call had come a month ago. At first, she'd hesitated. New York was hers — a skyline that reflected her ambition, a penthouse overlooking the city, and a thriving private practice that bore her name like a crown. She had built an empire with precision and elegance.

But Richard Webber had been more than a mentor. He had shaped her. Molded her into the double board-certified, world-renowned surgeon she was today. And when he asked — when he trusted her with his hospital — she said yes.

Because Addison Montgomery doesn’t turn away from responsibility. She rises to meet it — stilettos sharp, credentials sharper, and absolutely no room for doubt.

Today, Seattle Grace wouldn’t just remember who she was.

They’d remember who was in charge.

So she’d packed her bags.

Addison Montgomery didn’t run — not anymore — but this was the closest she’d come in years. And if returning to Seattle meant leaving behind a tangle of personal failures and a career that glittered too brightly in all the wrong ways, then so be it. The escape was clean. Professional. And it came with leverage.

Her conversation with Richard the night before had sealed it. A state-of-the-art Neonatal department, full autonomy, and a salary that matched her New York private practice. The job wasn’t a step back — it was a new throne. One she planned to occupy with intention.

There was no reason to feel nervous.

And yet, as her Louboutins echoed down the familiar halls of Seattle Grace, there was a tightness in her chest she hadn’t planned for.

Heads turned — of course they did. They always had. Addison Montgomery didn’t enter rooms; she claimed them. But she had long since learned to keep her gaze forward and her stride precise. No one would see her hesitate. Not here. Not ever again.

She had lost too much time letting her ex-husband eclipse her. Letting his choices define her narrative. No man would push her into shadows again.

“Dr. Montgomery.”

A warm voice broke through her thoughts as she reached her new office — temporary in theory, but already marked with her signature style. The glass walls overlooking the stairwell and skywalk had been fitted with custom blinds, just as she’d requested. Privacy was non-negotiable. If she was going to bleed for this hospital, she’d do it behind closed doors.

Inside, a short woman stood beside Patricia who holding what looked like a welcome basket filled with gourmet chocolates and artisanal cookies — the kind of indulgence that reeked of HR-approved enthusiasm.

Patricia smiled, polished as ever dropping the gift basket on the rich mahogany table. “Dr. Montgomery, this is Dr. Miranda Bailey, our chief resident. She’ll walk you through the current surgical workflow and introduce you to the key attending staff.”

Addison turned, extending her hand with the grace of someone who’d shaken hands with world leaders and billion-dollar donors. “Dr. Bailey,” she said, her tone smooth but cool. “I’ve heard good things.”

The handshake was firm. Controlled. And Bailey — sharp-eyed and unreadable — offered a faint smirk.

“Someone around here has to be,” she said. “Let’s hope you’re as good as Webber says you are. We could use the help.”

Addison didn’t flinch. “Help isn’t what I offer. I restructure. I restore.”

Bailey’s smile widened. “Then you’re exactly what we need.”

The challenge hung between them for a moment — mutual, wordless, and professional.

Addison glanced around the office — a blank canvas, for now. But the blinds were perfect. The view was strategic. And the pressure? Just enough to make her blood hum.

She had been briefed on the issues — staff morale low, surgical errors creeping too high, leadership fractured. Richard had been honest: his last choice for Chief had disappointed him. Deeply.

Addison didn’t need the details. She didn’t care what had gone wrong before her.

It wouldn’t happen again.

Because she wasn’t here to fit into someone else’s broken system. She was here to rebuild it — in her name, on her terms.

“This is the pit,” Bailey announced, leading Addison through the chaotic surgical floor like she was guiding a military general through a battlefield. “Charts go missing here. Interns go missing here. Don’t be surprised if a gurney nearly runs you over — the nurses move faster than God.”

Addison followed, heels silent now that they were off the polished lobby floor. Her coat was impeccable. Her gaze razor-sharp. She took everything in without a single word of complaint — just cool nods and subtle glances, cataloguing everything.

Bailey gestured left. “Your on-call board’s down that hall. Staff lounge through there. Trauma rooms past the elevator, though these days you’ll find more drama outside the trauma bay, if you ask me.”

“Noted,” Addison murmured, already adjusting her mental list of priorities.

“And I’ll start introducing you to the attendings—” Bailey stopped short just as a blur of movement came barrelling around the corner.

An intern — small, pale, wild-eyed — collided with Bailey hard enough to drop her entire stack of charts. The clatter echoed.

“Damn it,” the intern hissed, scrambling to grab the scattered papers, muttering under her breath. “Sorry, sorry — I didn’t see you, I’m running a little behind—”

“Clearly,” Bailey said, voice low and unimpressed.

Addison arched a brow and stepped back just slightly to avoid a chart nearly flying at her heels.

The intern glanced up then — and Addison’s first impression was a pair of striking blue eyes, tired but sharp, assessing everything at once.

The intern froze for a split second, then offered a flat, distracted smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Dr. Montgomery, meet Dr. Meredith Grey. Surgical intern. And trouble, if I’m being honest.”

Addison’s gaze narrowed, amused despite herself. “That Meredith Grey?”

Ellis Grey’s daughter. Richard hadn’t even given her a heads up.

Meredith’s jaw tightened. She stood, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulder. “I didn’t know there were other Meredith Greys.”

Addison smiled coolly. “There aren’t. I just assumed you'd be… less late.”

Bailey’s eyebrows practically hit her hairline. “Oof.”

Meredith blinked. “Right. Sorry, it’s been a long week.”

Addison didn’t buy it for a second. “That’s no excuse for nearly taking out the Chief of Surgery.”

Meredith froze. Her eyes widened slightly, flicking from Bailey back to Addison. “You’re the new Chief?”

“I am,” Addison said, her voice crisp and pointed. “Dr. Addison Montgomery. I suggest you remember the name — preferably before you knock me over in a hallway.”

Meredith opened her mouth — then thought better of it. “Noted.”

There was a beat of thick, silent tension.

Bailey cleared her throat. “Grey’s on the VIP case this week. Probably elbow-deep in scut work already.”

Addison studied her for a second longer.

Meredith didn’t flinch. Her posture was terrible, her coat slightly wrinkled, her ratty sneakers scuffed — but her eyes? Those eyes didn’t back down. They met Addison’s with a kind of silent what that could’ve passed as defiance if Addison hadn’t seen that exact look on her own face once or twice.

Interesting.

“Try not to get in my way again,” Addison said smoothly, already turning to follow Bailey.

Meredith didn’t answer — just bent down to collect the last chart, jaw clenched.

But behind her, Addison allowed herself one more glance back.

And something — barely noticeable — flickered in her expression.

Chapter Text

Meredith POV

It had been a week since Addison Montgomery took over as Chief of Surgery.

A week of the entire hospital walking slightly straighter. A week of new protocols, reorganized rounds, and board meetings that ended on time — because Addison never repeated herself. Not once.

Most of the staff had adjusted. Some even seemed impressed.

Meredith was not.

Not that she said anything out loud. Not to Bailey, or Cristina, or even George — but it grated, the way Dr. Montgomery seemed to walk three inches above the ground, her confidence carved into every clipped command.

She was a different kind of threat than Ellis Grey.

Ellis had been razor-blunt, no-nonsense brilliance, a whirlwind of intellect and ego.

Addison was worse.

Addison didn’t need to prove she was better than you. She just was — and expected you to keep up.

And Meredith? Meredith was already drowning under the weight of her last name. Everyone expected her to be Ellis 2.0. Smarter. Colder. Perfect.

She didn’t have room to trip over herself, let alone mess up.

So when she handed the wrong pre-op labs to Dr. Burke that morning — a small error, but one that delayed the scheduled valve replacement by nearly twenty minutes — she expected a chewing out from him, not the Chief of Surgery herself appearing with the charts in hand and a look like frost behind her eyes.

“Dr. Grey,” Addison said, voice low but sharp as Bailey’s scalpel. “Would you like to explain why Dr. Burke was handed the wrong labs for a patient whose vitals are already borderline unstable?”

Meredith’s stomach dropped.

“I—I mislabeled the—”

“Save it. Fix it. Then meet me in OR 2. We’ll see if you can run point on suction without dropping anything.”

Addison turned and walked off without waiting for a response.

Cristina winced from her position beside the board. “Damn.”

Meredith didn’t respond even as her ears burned from feeling embarrassed as many eyes in the hallways spectated.

Addison Montgomery had been Chief for seven days and eleven hours, and she was already making Meredith feel like an idiot.

It wasn’t even intentional, which somehow made it worse. She didn’t bark or snap or humiliate people the way Ellis Grey might’ve. She didn’t need to.

She walked through the hospital like she owned it — heels silent, voice calm, never rushed, never flustered. And every time Meredith looked at her, it felt like someone had placed a mirror in front of everything she hadn’t figured out yet.

Today had been no different.

The labs mistake still burned under Meredith’s skin. She’d fixed it. Quickly. Efficiently. But the silence afterward — the non-reaction — that was worse than getting yelled at. At least yelling meant they saw you.

Addison hadn’t even looked at her twice in the OR.

So, yes, when the Chief walked through the pit this afternoon with her perfect coat and her perfect bun and her clipboard like a sword, and made one dry comment about the interns needing to “triple-check their surgical tags,” Meredith’s mouth moved faster than her brain.

“Oh, sorry — do you want to do all our jobs yourself, too? I’ll just stand here and watch you be perfect.”

It wasn’t even that loud.

Okay, it was just loud enough.

Cristina turned sharply. George looked like he wanted to crawl into a floor vent.

Addison stopped mid-step, turned slowly, Meredith feared for that floor that would surely be scuffed under the impeccable stiletto.

Her expression was unreadable.

Worse than unreadable — it was disappointed.

“Excuse me?” she asked, calm. Too calm.

Meredith’s throat was dry, but she lifted her chin anyway. “Nothing.”

“You said something,” Addison replied. “Something about watching me.”

The air in the pit felt about twenty degrees colder.

Meredith shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I just mean it’s hard to keep up with perfection.”

Addison gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Then maybe don’t aim for perfection, Dr. Grey. Just aim for competence. Start there.”

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t need to.

She walked away with that same quiet authority, not sparing Meredith another glance.

And Meredith stood there, throat tight, suddenly burning with heat she couldn’t explain. Not just embarrassment. Not just regret.

Something deeper. Something hotter.

Because she hadn’t meant to say it — but she didn’t take it back either. And now she knows the chief of surgery thinks she isn’t even competent, let alone able to strive for perfection.

She didn’t know why Addison Montgomery got under her skin like this, only that she did.

And maybe Meredith had wanted to see if she could shake the woman’s perfect composure just once. Maybe she had.

But now Addison had seen her — really seen her — and all Meredith could think was:
Great. Now she thinks I’m a problem.

Which was fair.

She kind of was. That was lesson drilled into her as early as three years old.

Addison POV

Her office was quiet, the blinds drawn, the hum of the hospital muffled behind glass and distance.

Addison sat at her desk, tapping her pen against a surgical review she’d now read the same paragraph of four times.

Unacceptable.

She set the pen down, smoothed the paper with the flat of her hand, and forced herself to refocus.

The trauma budget proposal was due tomorrow. She still had two attending evaluations left to review. And Bailey had requested a meeting about the intern rotation schedule that Addison did not have time for.

She had a hospital to run.

And yet.

Her brain kept dragging her back to the pit. To that voice. To her.

Meredith Grey.

The name was already familiar — Ellis Grey’s daughter, surgical intern, too smart for her own good, and clearly not half as composed as she wanted to be. The hospital had opinions. Bailey had opinions. And Addison, for the most part, had brushed them off.

She didn’t have time to play politics with interns who were still figuring out how not to drop instruments.

And yet.

That tone. That bite.

“Oh, sorry — do you want to do all our jobs yourself too? I’ll just stand here and watch you be perfect.”

Addison clenched her jaw.

Not because it had hurt. Not really. She’d been called worse, with less restraint. But it was the nerve of it. The impulsivity. The sheer lack of professionalism wrapped in a tone so casually dismissive it could’ve passed as flirtation if it hadn’t been so biting.

Which… no. Not worth entertaining.

An intern.

An intern was distracting her.

She picked up the pen again, started annotating the review.

Meredith Grey was frustrating. That was all. A legacy intern with too many expectations and too little filter. The kind Addison had encountered dozens of times before. Ones who either broke or hardened, but always eventually learned.

She had corrected her. Professionally. Sharply. End of story.

And yet…

The moment still played in her head, over and over — the heat in Meredith’s voice, the way her jaw set when she got flustered. Like she hated being looked at and needed to be noticed, all at once.

Addison exhaled slowly, dropped the pen again.

“This is ridiculous,” she murmured, to no one.

Meredith Grey was not her problem.

She was not important. She was not unique. She was a name on a rotating intern roster, one among many, and Addison had real responsibilities — this hospital, this staff, this second chance at something that felt dangerously close to purpose again.

So why, out of everyone she’d encountered this week, was that intern the one she couldn’t stop thinking about?

She didn’t know.

And she didn’t like it.

Chapter Text

POV: Addison

Addison didn’t believe in distractions.

Not in surgery. Not in administration. And definitely not in interns with attitude problems and last names that echoed down hospital corridors.

So when she was assigned a complicated fetal surgery consult for the morning and Bailey quietly informed her that an intern would be shadowing, she didn’t flinch.

“Grey,” Bailey added. “Again.”

Of course.

Addison barely looked up from the chart. “She keeps finding me, doesn’t she?”

“She’s stubborn,” Bailey muttered. “Or unlucky. Depends on your definition.”

Addison sighed, flipped the chart shut, and kept moving.

The consult was routine — at least for Addison. A second-trimester twin pregnancy, one fetus with signs of TTTS (twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome), and a patient who was already anxious but otherwise healthy.

What wasn't routine was the entire family who had come with her.

Addison had just stepped out another exam room to call for imaging when she saw them in the waiting area: her patient, Molly Grey-Thompson, talking animatedly to the nurse and sitting between two smiling parents — her mother, Susan, who Addison remembered vaguely from the chart, and her father…

That’s when Addison paused.

Thatcher Grey.

The name hit first — then the face.

 Ellis Grey’s ex-husband. The missing puzzle piece to a history Addison had never cared enough to piece together until now.

He looked… ordinary. Button-down shirt. Nervous but warm smile. A hand resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder — Molly, the chart had said. Bright-eyed and clinging to every word her father said.

And standing across the hallway — unnoticed by all of them — was Meredith.

Frozen.

Addison stopped too, half-hidden beside a monitor stand, just out of sight.

Meredith didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

She just stood there, expression unreadable at first… and then, slowly, it cracked.

Her eyes lost focus — and her face did that thing Addison had seen only a few times before, on patients who were trying very hard to pretend they weren’t bleeding out.

Molly laughed suddenly, bright and carefree.

Addison heard her say it before Meredith did:

“Dad’s been amazing through all of this. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s been like… my rock. For Lexie too. Always has been.”

And there it was.

That was the wound.

Meredith blinked like the words physically hit her.

Her jaw tensed. Her hand clenched the chart she was holding. And she turned abruptly, disappearing down the hall before anyone in that happy little family ever noticed her at all.

But Addison noticed.

Addison had felt it.

And she hated that it made her pause.

She stood there for a long moment, watching that scene continue to play out — Thatcher laughing softly, Molly beaming up at him like he hung the moon.

The father. The comforter. The foundation.

A version of the man Meredith had clearly never known.

Addison let out a quiet breath and turned away, her heels clicking softly on the linoleum.

She had a surgery to prep for.

She had charts to review.

She had interns to supervise.

But all she could think about was the way Meredith’s face fell — not like someone breaking, but like someone who’d already broken, years ago, and had just been reminded of the crack.

Addison hated distractions.

But Meredith Grey was fast becoming one and it had barely been a few weeks since she got here.

And it was starting to scare her how much she didn’t mind.

POV: Meredith

She wasn’t eavesdropping.

Not really.

She’d been walking past the family waiting area with a chart in hand, mind occupied with a hundred things — Cristina’s ridiculous retorts to evil spawn, Bailey’s snide comments, the headache forming behind her eyes — when she heard the voice.

And suddenly, Meredith’s body had moved before her brain caught up. She stopped, half-hidden near the corner, just beyond the line of sight. She could see them, though.

And then there was him.

Thatcher Grey.

Her father.

Her dad — if you used the term lightly. If you stripped it of every single thing it was supposed to mean.

He looked comfortable. Paternal. His hand was resting on his other daughter’s shoulder like he’d always known how. His smile was natural. Warm. Proud.

Meredith felt her stomach tighten — cold and sudden, like she’d been punched just under the ribs.

She knew what this was. This was the life he chose. The one he wanted. Them.

She wasn’t even angry. Not really.

Just… tired.

And then Molly said it.

“Dad’s been amazing through all of this. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s been like… my rock. For Lexie too. Always has been.”

Always has been.

Meredith didn’t flinch.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t move.

Because if she did, she would’ve screamed.

Instead, she stood frozen, feeling the words settle like sand in her throat — grainy and choking and impossible to spit out. Her fingers clenched around the edges of the chart she was holding until the corner dug into her palm.

And then she felt it.

A presence — someone watching.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

And when she turned her head, just slightly, she saw her.

Addison.

Half in shadow, perfectly still, standing at the edge of the hallway like she was trying not to be seen.

But she was seen.

And Meredith could tell — Addison saw everything.

Not just that Meredith had overheard.

But how her face had changed. How her mask cracked. How the wound reopened, raw and ugly, when no one was supposed to be looking.

Addison’s gaze wasn’t smug or pitying. It was just… present. Real. Maybe even quiet concern.

But Meredith couldn’t take it.

Not from her.

Not from the woman who expected her to be perfect or silent or invisible, depending on the hour. Not from someone who made her feel like she was under a microscope just by breathing.

Addison saw her — and that was the breaking point.

Not her father.

Not Molly.

Addison.

So Meredith turned abruptly and left. Fast. Too fast. Didn’t even pretend she wasn’t fleeing.

She ducked into the stairwell and didn’t stop until she hit the second landing, cold air clinging to her like regret.

She sat on the stairs. Let her forehead rest against the railing. Told herself she didn’t care. Told herself it didn’t matter.

But her hands were shaking, and she was so, so tired of being a person everyone expected to be fine.

She hated being seen. And worse — she hated that part of her wanted to go back upstairs…

…just to see if Addison was still looking

Chapter Text

Meredith POV

She wasn't going to think about it.

Not the waiting room.
Not her father.
Not Molly.
And definitely not Addison Montgomery seeing her standing there like a kicked dog.

That moment had been an accident. A vulnerability breach. A temporary crack in a wall Meredith had spent her entire adult life reinforcing.

So today?

Today, she would be anything but vulnerable.

She arrived early for rounds, hair pulled tight, white coat pressed, coffee in hand — black, scalding, and unpleasant. Just how she felt. Cristina clocked the tension immediately.

"Okay," she said, leaning against the nurse’s station. "Who pissed in your coffee?"

Meredith didn’t look up. “No one. Just the universe.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague and dramatic. Did Evil Spawn get chief resident or something?”

Meredith’s lips tightened. "No. It’s fine."

It wasn’t.

But she wasn’t going to unpack her inner trauma over vending machine coffee and sarcastic banter. She had a plan: work harder, speak less, and bury that horrible, flickering moment where she’d let someone — Addison of all people — see too much.

The chief hadn’t brought it up. Not the hallway. Not the stairwell exit. Not the fleeing. She’d just carried on like always — calm, cool, terrifyingly efficient.

Which should have helped.

But somehow, that made it worse.

By mid-morning, Meredith was manic with motion.

She triple-checked post-op vitals, shadowed an appendectomy that wasn’t even on her schedule, and grabbed five charts no one asked for. If anyone noticed her energy was bordering on aggressive, they didn’t mention it.

Until she pushed it too far.

“I already paged CT for the neuro patient,” Alex said, flipping through the chart.

Meredith snatched it from his hands. “Well, maybe you did it wrong. He’s still in holding.”

Cristina looked up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Meredith snapped. “We don’t have time for sloppiness.”

Alex raised both brows. “Wow. Someone needs a nap.”

George tried to play peacemaker, his voice tentative. “Mer, maybe just… let Karev—”

“I said I’ve got it,” Meredith snapped, already stalking off with the chart. She heard Cristina mutter something about "spiraling," but she didn’t care.

Addison POV

It was already noon and Addison’s morning had been unforgiving — two consults, one emergency fetal MRI, and a lunch meeting with finance that gave her a headache before it even started.

She didn’t have time for intern drama. Not today.

But then Bailey intercepted her outside Radiology.

“Grey’s in a mood,” Bailey said dryly.

Addison didn’t stop walking. “When isn’t she?”

“This is different. More… lashing out to cover something she doesn't want to admit happened kind of mood.”

Addison sighed. “Let me guess. It started after the consult yesterday.”

Bailey blinked. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You never do,” Bailey said. “And yet.”

Addison exhaled through her nose. “She wants to pretend I didn’t see it.”

“Then let her.”

“I tried. She’s the one unraveling.”

Bailey snorted. “That girl doesn’t unravel. She detonates.”

Addison didn’t say anything.

Because Bailey was right.

And Addison was officially done pretending it wasn’t her problem.

Meredith POV

She hadn’t meant to lose it on the surgical tech.

The guy was new, flustered, and he dropped a clamp. Once.

It wasn’t even during a real procedure — just a prep run before Bailey’s afternoon hernia repair.

But Meredith had snapped.

“You can’t drop sterile instruments, not even in prep. Do you want a patient to get sepsis because you fumbled your grip like a toddler?”

The OR went dead quiet. The tech looked like he’d been slapped. Cristina shot her a warning look. Meredith felt adrenaline spike in her chest but didn’t back down.

Then she heard it.

The click of heels.

She turned.

Addison stood in the doorway of the observation corridor. Hands folded. Eyes unreadable.

Meredith’s heart dropped.

Shit.

Addison POV

She didn't raise her voice.

She never had to.

"Dr. Grey," she said coolly, stepping into the OR, "a moment?"

Meredith followed her out like she was being led to her execution. The hallway outside was empty, the hum of surgical lights fading behind them.

Addison didn’t stop walking until they were near the closed, frosted-glass doors of her office. She didn’t say a word until the door clicked shut.

Then, slowly, she turned.

"You want to tell me what that was?"

Meredith folded her arms. “A correction.”

Addison tilted her head. “That’s what you’re calling public humiliation now?”

"He dropped a clamp."

“And you dropped your professionalism.”

Meredith’s jaw tightened. “I was correcting an error before it endangered anyone.”

“You were punishing someone for your own bad day.”

Addison’s voice never rose — but each word landed with surgical precision.

“You want to act out because I saw something you didn’t want seen? Fine. Be bratty. Be immature. But not in my OR.”

Meredith looked away. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”

“No,” Addison agreed, “I don’t. But I do get to discipline my staff when they cross the line.”

Silence stretched between them like a wire drawn tight.

“I could write you up,” Addison said, almost idly. “Put a formal notice in your file.”

Meredith swallowed. “Then do it.”

Addison’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want? Something on the record? Or just any reaction that makes you feel like you’re still in control?”

That cut too close to the bone.

Meredith hated her for being right.

Addison studied her for a moment longer. Then her voice softened — just barely.

“You want a punishment, Dr. Grey? Fine.”

She walked behind her desk, pulled up a schedule, and scribbled a note on a pad.

“Starting tomorrow, you’re assigned to the NICU rotation. Two weeks. Full shifts. You report directly to me.”

Meredith blinked. “What?”

“You’ll be working under me for every case, every consult, and every post-op evaluation. You’ll shadow, you’ll scrub in, you’ll take notes, and you’ll triple-check every lab.”

Meredith stared at her. “That’s not— That’s not actual punishment.” But it actually was, worse than the suspension kind. Meredith just didn’t know to say it out loud.

Addison’s mouth curved — not quite a smile.

“No. But it is containment.”

She slid the paper toward Meredith.

“I’m not going to shame you in front of your peers, Grey. But I am going to make sure you learn the difference between personal chaos and professional control.”

Meredith snatched the paper. “Fine.”

But even as she left the office — cheeks flushed, heart pounding — something nagged at her.

She had expected worse.

Later That Night

Meredith POV

The hospital was quieter after midnight. The pit was mostly empty, and the vending machines buzzed softly under flickering fluorescent lights.

Meredith sat on a bench outside the NICU with a chart on her lap and a half-empty cup of bad coffee balanced on the edge.

She hadn’t seen Addison again after the hallway.

The punishment — if that’s what it was — hadn’t involved yelling, or reports, or public shaming.

It had just been deliberate.

Addison hadn’t humiliated her.

She’d reined her in.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because Meredith had been bratty. She had lashed out because she hated being seen, and Addison saw everything. And instead of blowing up at her, Addison had just… taken her out of the equation. Folded her neatly into the NICU rotation like a bookmark in a novel Meredith didn’t remember signing up for.

It was clinical. Contained. Discreet.

And it felt like trust. In a twisted way.

Meredith hated that she respected it.

She hated that the thought of working under Addison for two full weeks made her feel — something. Not dread. Not excitement. But something else. Something hot and sharp and undefinable.

She hated it so much.

And even worse?

She couldn’t wait for it to begin, but she also needed for it end.