"Sunscreen, your insect repellent — you're going to need a shovel to bury your poop."

I walk through the front foyer of Meredith's house, removing the earbuds and letting them hang from my shoulders.

"Izzie, quit babying him."

"Morning, Leven."

Looking behind me, I see Derek, Dr. Burke, Chief Webber. . .and my father. A smile grows on my face the moment I notice them.

"Are the men having a camping trip?" I press my cheek against my father's for a second. "Medullica. No, no, wait, Med Zeppelin."

Meredith grabs my arm from the side and pulls me to her. "She had two protein shakes, and it's only. . .seven in the morning." She heaves a sigh of exhaustion.

"N'syncope." A light giggle leaves my lips. "I got it! The Flu Fighters."

Chief Webber grins slightly. "That's actually a good one." The three other men nod in agreement.

Izzie, George, and Meredith walk out to see them off while the chief, my father, and Burke follow them out. This leaves me alone with Derek.

"The Flu Fighters, huh?" A taunting snicker slips on purpose. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"

I grin happily. "Ever since you told me you were taking a trip with the guys. I'm quite proud of the names."

Meredith, Cristina, Izzie, and I stand in front of the O.R. board while relishing in the absence of the male doctors.

"George is camping." Meredith gently swings side to side. "Taking time, getting space."

"Prestons do not go into the woods. A guy named Preston is going to get his ass kicked by a squirrel." Cristina scoffs with a murmur.

Izzie lets out a girlish giggle. "It's basically a slumber party. The only difference is we do it inside, they do it outside."

"You think Chief Webber can fire me if my dad starts telling stories from my childhood?"

"No. He had an affair with my mom, and I'm still here."

Mark Sloan, Seattle Grace's newly hired plastics surgeon and Derek's ex-best friend, introduces himself to the group before picking one of us to join him for the day.

Surprise, surprise, Bailey arrives at the same time to assign tasks: Stephens with her peer counselor, Cristina in pediatrics, Meredith in the pit, and me with Sloan.

"So, you and Derek. . .are you guys together?"

"None of your business."

We walk into the patient room to see two women unpacking their suitcases. Dr. Sloan greets them with a look of familiarity.

"Donna Gibson, 34 years old, here for. . .sexual reassignment surgery." I shake her and her wife's hand. "Nice to meet you both."

"You know the steps for vaginoplasty?"

"No, but I'm planning on reading before the surgery."

"Well, if you want to get in on this surgery today, you better memorize it."

"And I will."

Donna speaks up with an encouraging grin. "Don't pay any attention to him. You're doing very well."

"Better than I did when I first found out." Vicky adds in continuation.

"We just need to run a few pre-op labs to make sure everything's in working order."

"Then surgery today?"

He nods. "Big day, Donna. You excited?"

"Excited doesn't begin to cover it."

"You're going to do great."

After checking out plenty of books on sexual reassignment surgery and picking up an extra shot of espresso, I find a spot in the waiting area and begin to read.

"I'll trade you."

Behind me sits Vicky, Donna's wife, flipping through forms on a clipboard.

"Insurance forms." She waves the stack of papers. "Donna gets the surgeries, and I do the forms. Super fun."

"You're handling this very well, Vicky." I nod in reassurement.

"Well. . .I left at first. When she told me." She admits tentatively. "You plan a life together, you know? Kids and. . .and suddenly, that's all out the window. Suddenly your husband is this other girl in your house who's borrowing your eyeliner and waxing her legs."

"Mind me asking why you came back?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

A few tests needed to be conducted before the operation, to make sure everything is well before we proceed, but the needle aspiration reveals abnormal cells.

Which means breast cancer.

But Donna still wants the operation.

Mark approaches me outside of the exam room, the two of us next to each other at the adjacent nurses' station to discuss what to do next.

He sighs shakily. "Derek is damaged goods, Leven. And it's my fault. I damaged him. Maybe even forever. Do you really want to drink from a poisoned well?"

"I don't know if I've been hiding it well or you're just oblivious. . ." I brush a hand through my hair. "But I come with baggage, too."

"Dr. Sloan." Vicky walks out of the room, a panicked look on her face. "You have to talk to her. She wants to go through with the operation."

Even after talking to her, Donna still wants the surgery, which is why Vicky walks out on her.

"Phoenix, what's our next step?"

"Continue the first incision in the ventral side of the shaft."

"I see you read through some surgical books."

"Of course I did. You wouldn't have let me scrub in if I didn't."

He passes the scalpel back to a surgical nurse. "You're a good person, Leven."

"Thanks, Dr. Sloan." My face contorts to a look of confusion. "Is there a reason you've been making an effort to talk to me?"

"Just because Derek hates my living guts. . .doesn't mean I don't want to look out for him." He mutters through his mask.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mark." The corners of my lips, although unnoticeable, curve in a smile. "Give him some time. He'll come around."

"Do you know why your father calls you Rising Phoenix?"

In all my years of existence, I've heard the nickname float around through the household — in birthday cards, after doctor appointments, etc. — yet I've never learned the origin.

"A phoenix rising from its ashes symbolizes the act of emerging from a catastrophe stronger, smarter. . .and more powerful."

The end of the surgery nears as he continues to talk.

"He looks up to you, Leven."

"Yeah. . .I know."

As I walk past Donna's post-op room, I see Vicky sitting at her wife's bedside, pushing her hair back and smiling tearfully.

Once my shift was over, I decided to isolate myself in the Emerald City Bar, not wanting to stay at the hospital but not wanting to go home either.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Still dressed in his camping gear, Derek walks up to the row of barstools.

"I still don't know why I come here as often as I do." I play with the thin red straw in my empty glass. "It's not like I can drink anything other than Shirley Temples and club soda."

"Don't forget about the L.P.." He teases me sweetly before sitting down himself.

My eyes flicker to his. "Can we talk tonight?"

"We just started dating. Did I do something wrong already?" Derek nudges my shoulder.

"I want to know. . .everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"I think that's a fair idea." He obliges. "As long as you do the same."

I glance back at Joe, who's currently working behind the bar. "Two more L.P.s, Joe."

"And keep 'em coming. We're gonna be here for a while."