𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ━━ 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐝

eighteen | jealous

"Leven, I thought you'd be at work by now."

"I already called Bailey and told her I'd have to miss morning rounds."

My father, who until now had looked sick and bedridden every time I visited, sits at the edge of his bed and slips on a pair of sneakers.

"Where are you going?" My brows furrow in confusion.

"A morning walk." He tugs his shorts higher over his waist. "Couple of ladies down the street let me join their group."

"Lennox —"

"And they have the best gossip."

"Lennox, I —"

"Did you know Mrs. Perkins has been having an affair with —"

"Dad!"

The name I hadn't used in over a decade slips from me as if it was practice. However, it works to keep him silent for more than a second.

"What happened to Dr. Barrinski's orders?" I set aside the bag of homemade chicken noodle soup I stayed up making. "Did you get rid of your oxygen tank?"

He smiles boldly. "Didn't need to. Henry didn't prescribe it again."

"But I still don't think —"

"Leven, sweetheart, I haven't felt this energized in years."

He gently grabs me by the shoulders, staring into my eyes with a look of fatherly adoration — something I haven't seen in a long time.

"I finally have my life back."

The words fall short of my lips, and I'm left with an ajar mouth.

"I'm glad." Is all I can say in my state of shock.

At the hospital, the six interns divide themselves amongst the five victims of a car crash. I happen to be partnered with the one attending who can't stand me as of two weeks: Dr. Derek Shepherd.

He and I meet the driver in charge of the crash, Marshall Stone, a surgical intern at the Mercy West Medical Center.

"Okay, we get the C.T. results back yet?"

"No, no we haven't."

Marshall reads through his own file, checking the preliminary vitals. "My G.C.S. was 13. Why haven't I haven't had a C.T.?"

"Dr. Phoenix?"

"Hold up in C.T.. Besides, he's lucid —"

"Get it done! Now!"

After taking a C.T. scan of Melanie — the pregnant daughter from the crash — and seeing the catastrophic internal injuries, Bailey orders every attending for the surgery.

"Alright, Marshall. We can take you into. . ."

The wheelchair he had been sitting in is now empty, and there's no sign of him. I search through the entire floor, only to find him inside the C.T. machine. . .where he's supposed to be.

"How in the hell do you let a patient get that far off your watch?"

"The technician from C.T. finally paged me after having an opening."

"He was in the damn gallery, Phoenix!"

"It's not like he's never seen blood, Derek. He's a surgical intern at —"

"I don't care if he's the surgeon general." He interrupts me. "In this hospital. . .he's a patient. . .with a head injury, who needs a C.T.."

The vein in his forehead throbs angrily as his face reddens.

"In this hospital, he's a scared guy who does not need to see the massive internal injuries of the woman he rammed with his car!"

His voice only intensifies.

"This is your fault." He stares up at me. "You had him, and you lost him!"

"Dr. Shepherd —"

"You have to take responsibility for your actions once in your life!"

Outside of the C.T. lab, I watch him stop at the desk. For a second, he turns around, as if he was coming back to apologize.

But he doesn't.

I help Marshall to his room after the C.T. scan before paging the hate-filled neurosurgeon to observe the results.

"C.T. scans are back."

"Good, thank you."

He refuses to even glance in my direction.

"Everything checks out fine." Dr. Shepherd flicks the light off of the device. "Your short-term memory loss was a result of the concussion. But to be safe, I want to keep you here overnight for observation, alright?"

And he leaves as quickly as he came.

"Get some rest, Marshall. I'll come by to check on you in a bit."

Immediately, I follow the aggressive attending into the empty stairwell. He stops mid step at the sound of another set of footsteps.

"You knew about my ugly past."

This time, I do the talking.

"You knew, and you still chose to act like a dick."

"Three dates in one week. And now your vet. Must be nice to have sex with so many people."

"What about my vet, Dr. Shepherd?" I lift a challenging brow.

"Oh, I heard all about going to the Six Seven Restaurant because of the view of the water." He mocks me. "Question is: did you have sex before or after the date?"

A loud scoff escapes my lips. "I was setting up a date for Meredith, okay? Not that I need to prove anything to you."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Just that you have a wife, but you feel the need to be jealous of a much younger intern."

The moment I turn away from him, his hand grips my forearm and yanks me back, forcing our chests to touch.

His breath is hot against my mouth. "I'm not jealous."

"What do you think you're doing, Shepherd?" I glance down at the minimal space between our parted lips. "You accused me of sleeping with other guys, and now. . .are you going to do something about it?"

"I. . ."

"It's not my fault I'm finally happy with my life. . .and your hell's just begun."

With the final word, I walk out of the stairwell.

Unfortunately, the mother from the car crash doesn't survive. But a well-performed c-section by Alex saves the baby.

Izzie, Cristina, Meredith, and I sit around our usual table at Joe's Bar, with a perfect view of Burke and Shepherd throwing darts.

"He's picturing my face." Cristina throws back another shot of tequila. "He's totally picturing that dart puncturing my skull."

The last of his darts hits the bullseye mark.

"Look at that."

The two attendings exchange high-fives before switching places. Shepherd downs the rest of his single-malt scotch.

A glare is shot in my direction, and his back turns.

"McVomit's picturing me." I gulp the rest of my club soda. "He thought I was sleeping with the vet. And the three other dates I had a month ago."

Cristina orders another round of tequila shots. "So I fall asleep during sex. So what?"

"Aim between the eyes!"

"Ass."

"Ass!"

"McAss!"

"Motherfuc —"