"Is there something going on?"

Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd waits in the center of the elevator, me and his husband standing on either side of her.

"Dad sends his best wishes to the happy couple."

"Did you guys have a fight, or something?"

"No. Not at all."

"So. . .we're all still. . .friends?"

"Uh-huh. Sure."

Ding.

As soon as the doors of freedom slide open, Shepherd and I are the first ones out. The E.R. is packed with multiple victims from a shooting incident at a restaurant.

"Do you know what you're doing? Because that really hurts, you know."

I pluck another piece of glass from his wound. "I wouldn't be complaining about a glass cut when there's people dying from gunshots. Consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky? There's no luck. Quick thinking, doll."

"What did you just —"

"I'm a smart and quick thinker. Always right on it. As soon as I saw him — Petey, the shooter — I just knew it was coming."

He greets a couple of his coworkers, who are busy reliving the traumatic shock of it all and charging through the pain of multiple G.S.W.s.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were Petey's target."

When more urgent cases arrive, I'm forced to move him to the spare bed next to Meredith's patient, Will.

"Is he for real?"

"All I know is I am gonna need some morphine very soon."

"He makes Shepherd look like a pansy."

After another visit to my father, he suggested I begin working through his financial documents, his assets. . .whatever else is needed until he dies.

Knock, knock.

"Hey."

Addison Montogomery-Shepherd, the person I least expected to visit me, stands at the doorway, her hands held behind her back.

"Uh, hi."

I smile politely, not knowing what to expect from her.

"Have you, um, seen Dr. Karev?"

"With Dr. Burke at Mercy West." I close up the folders for the time being. "Something about a heart transplant."

"Okay."

Even with her answer, the OB remains still.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" I glance up at her.

"Sorry. I, uh. . .I-I'm not sorry. I just. . ." She takes the seat across from me. "I'm just having a little trouble because. . .I need to ask you something. And I don't usually have trouble."

Her voice waivers in fragility.

"But what I need to ask — I'm not even sure I want the answer to, but I have to ask. So, I'm just going to ask you, and then you answer, and then, uh. . .I'll just go from there, okay?"

"Sure."

"Are you sleeping with my husband?"

The question leaves her mouth in a tearful, almost frightened tone, as if she was dreading the answer to come.

"I've never even thought about it."

The muscles in her face relaxen at the optimistic response she receives. She lets out a laugh of relief before allowing herself to smile.

"Okay."

She turns her back and starts to leave, only to return a moment later.

"Except, you know, it just. . .it felt like in the elevator this morning, and a couple of nights ago at the bar when you called him an ass —"

"You heard that?"

"Half of Seattle must have heard it."

"Well, I'm. . .sorry. For calling your husband an ass."

"It feels like you two are having. . .a lovers' quarrel."

I can't help the chuckle that falls short of my mouth, the sarcasm dripping aggressively. "Me? And Dr. Shepherd? Yeah, right."

She joins the chuckle, although she's a little. . .shaken by the abruptness.

"He's just being a really, really bad friend." My lips tighten into a thin line. "Ever since he thought I was going out with the vet —"

"You're going out with Dr. Dandridge?"

"No, not me. I was calling him to set up a date with Meredith."

"Oh." A look of realization crosses her face for a split second. "Oh, okay."

"Dr. Montgomery —"

"No, no. Thanks. . .I'm-I'm good." This time, her smile is strained. "Thanks, I'm great." And she walks out with her endless whirlwind of thoughts.

I meet up with Meredith and Cristina, the three of us sitting across a gurney in the empty hallway near the E.R..

Cristina taps the end of her pen against her temple. "Karev. He stood there and chose that-that moron over me."

"I mean, I don't know what to think about George. He's just. . .he's just there, flirting with that orthopedics surgeon Torres."

"Who the hell does he think he is, judging me about who I date? And then indirectly calling me a whore for going out a few times in a week."

"He's not rewarding Karev. He's punishing me."

"It's not my fault he was eavesdropping on my conversation with the vet."

"Why do I get stuck with the guy who keeps thinking with the wrong brain?"

"You know, he withholds surgery when I'm a bad girlfriend. It's his M.O.." She sits back in realization. "I mean, how controlling and-and macho and petulant is that?"

"At least he's not calling you a whore."

"Or shooting people."

"I'm dumping him. This relationship. . .is over."

Izzie walks up to our group cautiously, her cheeks flushed and flaring pinks as beads of sweat cascade down her head.

"Um, I-I told a lie. To Dr. Burke." She blurts out in one breath.

"Good for you." Cristina applauds her. "Fight the power."

"No, no, I need. . .um. . .God, I can't think. I. . .I can't. I-I-I don't know what to do. What do I do?" Her hand frantically runs through her hair. "Th-There's this guy ahead of Denny on the transplant list."

"He'll get the next heart, Izzie."

"No. He needs to get this heart."

All three of us look up at her, our brows lifted in surprise from the change in her typically tranquil attitude.

"He'll get a heart soon, okay?"

"But as long as Denny's doing well on the L.V.A.D. — and there's someone ahead of him on the transplant list — he's not going to get this heart."

From the change of facial expression, an idea pops into her head. "Yes. You're right. Thank you." Her breathing grows heavy. "Thank you."

"Okay, if I was going to pick someone who was gonna go psycho and shoot up the place?"

The blonde intern grabs a cart full of disorganized supplies, wheeling it towards Denny's room.

"It's Izzie."

"There's no question about it."

"Totally."

We move to the general desk area, where families of patients await the news from doctors — hoping and praying everything is alright.

". . .you walk away? That's all I get?"

"Just calm down, please."

Addison and Shepherd stop in the middle of the catwalk, giving the rest of us down below a perfect view of their argument.

"What? What, you're not going to yell at me? Call me names? Or — I don't know — ignore me in an elevator?"

"What do you want from me, Addison?"

"I want you to care!"

"Oh, no." I mutter under my breath. "This can't be good."

"I sleep with your best friend, and you walk away. He comes out here from New York and rubs it in your face, and still you get a good night's sleep. What do I have to do?"

"Do you know what's going on?" Cristina questions quietly.

I shake my head slightly. "Not a clue."

"Oh! I know. Maybe what I should do is contract not one but two terminal illnesses, go out three nights in a week, and make you believe I'm going out with the vet."

"Shit, shit, shit."

"Because that seems to be something that sends you into a blind rage."

"Leven. . ." Meredith's hand grazes my own.

"But wait. That won't work either because I'm not Leven Phoenix!"

Finally, after an anger-filled outburst from his wife, Shepherd nods to the floor below, filled with people who witnessed the show.

After a long day of work, I finally change out of the scrubs and into comfortable clothes. I stand outside of the elevator, waiting for the last step until sleep.

But when the doors open, I'm met by the tear-stricken, red-faced doctor known as Derek Shepherd, the one person in this hospital I thought lacked compassion for anyone but himself and his patients.

"I'm taking the stairs."

But if I hadn't taken the stairs. . .if only I could have built some confidence in myself to ride the elevator with him. . .maybe. . .just maybe. . .

I wouldn't be in this position.