The emergency lights still flickered weakly overhead, casting eerie shadows across the darkened halls of Seattle Grace Mercy West. It had been two hours since the blackout. Power was slowly returning in sections, but the ER, OR, and ICU were still being rerouted to backup systems. Chaos buzzed like static through the air, but amidst the storm, one voice had cut through the noise with startling clarity.
"Nia Adisa." The name rippled through the hospital like the aftermath of a bolt of lightning.
Earlier that day, she had directed trauma triage in the absence of Chief Webber and Bailey. She'd anticipated power surges, rerouted patients by torchlight, and saved a teenager with a crushed trachea using an improvised surgical team and a map of the hospital stored in her mind.
Now, as generators sputtered and the adrenaline wore off, Nia sat in the stairwell—her hands trembling, her white coat soaked in blood and rain, her mind replaying every choice in high-definition.
Footsteps echoed.
"You're either hiding," came Cristina Yang's voice, dry as ever, "or you're trying to avoid the Chief."
Nia didn't flinch. "Neither. Just needed five minutes to make sure I didn't collapse in front of the board."
Cristina gave a noncommittal grunt. "You know they're calling you 'Intern Shepherd' behind your back, right? Because of the whole surgical savant thing."
"I can visualize procedures. That's not the same as being Shepherd."
Cristina crossed her arms and smirked. "Not yet. But it's cute that you're pretending you don't know how to weaponize that skill."
Nia met her gaze. "You think I'm trying to outshine you?"
"I think you're a black hole. You pull in everything. Micah. Meredith's curiosity. Even Derek's mentorship. You have no clue how threatening that is to someone like me."
Nia stood, leveling with her. "You think I'm a threat? Fine. But I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to be the kind of surgeon I needed when my mother coded in a rural clinic that didn't know how to intubate a kid."
Cristina's expression cracked just slightly.
"Guess we're both dangerous in our own ways," she muttered.
Before Nia could respond, a nurse called from above. "Adisa! You're wanted in the boardroom. Now."
---
The hospital boardroom was packed. Webber stood at the head of the table, shoulders stiff. Derek leaned against the window, arms crossed. Bailey, Callie, and Owen occupied the seats closest to the center.
"We're here because last night exposed major weaknesses in our emergency protocols," Webber said, voice grim. "But one intern's actions likely prevented multiple fatalities. Dr. Adisa."
Nia stepped forward, her white coat freshly changed, hair still damp.
"You correctly diagnosed three internal bleeds without imaging, rerouted six trauma patients, and directed an unplanned cricothyrotomy under candlelight," Bailey said. "Where did you learn to lead?"
"I didn't," Nia answered. "I just saw what had to be done and remembered what every hallway looked like."
Derek raised a brow. "When did you memorize the full hospital layout?"
"First night. I have a photographic memory."
Bailey looked at Webber. "And she's not in the advanced intern program why?"
Webber sighed. "Because we don't have one."
Owen cut in. "She should be shadowing attendings in trauma and neuro starting today. Effective immediately."
"And cardio," Callie added. "Cristina will throw a fit, but she needs competition."
Nia tried to keep her breathing steady. They weren't promoting her… but they were watching.
---
Micah Duvall blinked against the soft hospital lights as his vision adjusted. The IV in his arm was warm with fluids. His body still ached from the ruptured appendix and near sepsis, but he was alive.
And sitting beside him, curled up in the plastic visitor chair, was Nia.
Her head rested on her arm, asleep but frowning, like even her dreams were scanning a surgical chart.
He shifted gently, reaching out to brush her knuckles. Her eyes snapped open.
"Micah?"
"You stayed."
She blinked fast. "Of course I did. You almost died on me."
He gave a lopsided grin. "I remember you shouting at the surgeon before I went under. Something about clamp pressure and peritoneal signs."
"I… may have corrected his technique."
Micah chuckled. "Only you would backseat operate while someone's cutting you open."
Her eyes filled, and she turned her face away.
He frowned. "Hey. I'm okay. You saved me."
"You shouldn't have needed saving. You ignored pain until it almost killed you."
Micah swallowed. "Because I didn't want to miss my rotation. And because I've watched strong Black women carry pain in silence my whole life. I thought I had to match that strength. I didn't want to be your weak link."
Nia turned to face him again, eyes burning. "You are not a link. You are the reason I remember to feel things when this place tries to hollow me out."
He leaned up slowly, pain creasing his face, until their foreheads touched.
"When I'm out," he murmured, "I want us to stop pretending we're just friends with matching trauma."
"Deal."
Their lips met—soft and desperate, like they were sealing a promise neither could afford to break.
---
Cristina glared at the whiteboard in the surgical lounge. "This is sabotage."
Meredith sipped her coffee. "It's an assignment, Cristina. You and Nia are co-leads on the advanced coronary bypass with cardio-neuro involvement."
"Which I was going to do alone. But no. Now I get Intern Mozart as a tagalong."
"You don't get to complain when she saved a patient with a ballpoint pen and a Bic lighter."
Cristina scowled. "What if she freezes under pressure?"
"She didn't last night."
"And what if she takes the glory and Shepherd starts treating her like his golden intern?"
Meredith raised a brow. "Sounds like you're scared."
Cristina bristled, but said nothing.
---
The OR was cold, stainless steel gleaming. The patient, a 45-year-old male with a history of arrhythmias and a tumor compressing the basilar artery, was prepped. Owen, Derek, and Teddy Altman stood in observation.
"Alright," Owen said. "Yang. Adisa. You've both reviewed the imaging. This is cardio-neuro overlap. Let's see what two of the best minds can do together."
Cristina began the incision with swift confidence. Nia flanked her, eyes already visualizing each step ahead.
"Retractor," Nia said.
"Not yet," Cristina snapped.
"You're going to hit the junction if you don't change your angle. I'm seeing the trajectory in real-time."
Cristina froze—then adjusted. A few millimeters, but the difference saved critical tissue.
For the next hour, they danced between sharpness and precision. Nia corrected a clamp pressure just as Cristina angled for a suture. They sparred quietly, each push making the other sharper.
By the time the tumor was removed and the bypass sutured, the room was silent but humming with tension.
In the gallery, Derek nodded slowly. "She sees it. Like I do."
Bailey muttered, "Maybe even faster."
---
Later that evening, Nia found herself on the hospital roof.
Micah joined her, carrying two coffees.
"You should be sleeping," she said.
"So should you."
They sat, backs against the ledge.
"You were brilliant today," he said.
"I felt like I was sprinting blindfolded through landmines."
He took her hand. "You saved that man's life. You made Cristina Yang adjust mid-surgery. You're not just good, Nia. You're… the kind of surgeon the world only sees once in a generation."
She stared ahead. "That scares me."
"Why?"
"Because the better I get, the less I feel like I'm allowed to be human. And I want to be both."
Micah squeezed her hand. "Then let me be the one who reminds you."
The sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.
Below them, Seattle Grace Mercy West buzzed back to life.
But for that moment, on the roof, Nia and Micah sat suspended in something fragile and real—between lightning strikes and heartbeats.
---
Chapter 8 End