Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing FanFiction. I've always loved writing and am happy to finally be able to write a "real" piece of fiction and share it with others. Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, especially regarding characterization. (I want to try and keep within the world of Grey's Anatomy as much as possible.) Leave a review and let me know if you'd like me to continue. Thanks! :)

Additionally, anything and everything having to do with Grey's Anatomy belongs to ABC. No copyright infringement intended.

Dr. Isobel Stevens yawned as she opened the door to her locker at 5:37 that wintry Monday morning. She wasn't scheduled to begin the inevitably long day at Seattle Grace Hospital until 6:30, but she'd decided to come in early and catch up on the seemingly endless paperwork that was waiting for her in a pile at the nurse's station. Now, however, as her eyes drooped and her mouth continued to open involuntarily, she was slightly regretting the decision.

I just need a coffee, and I'll be all right, she silently reassured herself.

The need for a caffeine boost was quickly eliminated, though, as something in her locker caught her eye. It was a piece of white paper that had been folded into quarters and placed on top of the latest edition of the New England Journal of Medicine. On the top flap that was facing up at her, someone had written her nickname, "Izzie," in a thin scrawl.

She stared at the piece of paper for several seconds, partially caught off guard by the mere presence of the object and partially baffled at the thought of someone leaving a note for her to find. Izzie loved her fellow residents like family, but the idea of one of them committing such an apparently childish act was absurd. It was completely reminiscent of middle school, when the only way a boy could declare his love for a girl was by leaving a note in her locker and hope she would circle "Yes" as an answer to his written question of "Will you go out with me?"

Doubting that this was a similar declaration of affection for her, Izzie gingerly picked up the piece of paper and opened it. Inside, penned in the same handwriting as her name, were five lines of text:

I didn't get picked for scrubbing in
I'm really, really sad
I'll have to watch from up above
Though it's surely not as rad

P.S. 2, front and center

"A riddle…?" Izzie murmured to herself. She'd been right about the lack of amorous professions, at least. Still, she wasn't sure what to think: she'd never been good with word games, yet she could tell that this one had been crafted specifically to test her medical knowledge.

Her ponderings were abruptly interrupted by the sound of an all-too-familiar voice that made her jump and quickly shove the note into the pocket of her white lab coat.

"Stevens! Why are you here so early?" Dr. Miranda Bailey had appeared in the doorway and was looking at her suspiciously, her hands on her hips in her trademark "Nazi" pose.

"I…I'm sorry, Dr. Bailey. I was hoping to get some paperwork done before we started rounds," Izzie answered.

"Well, why aren't you doing it? It's quarter to six. You won't get anything done if you keep standing in here, staring at pieces of paper that probably have nothing to do with your job."

"Yes, Dr. Bailey," sighed Izzie. Dr. Bailey glanced at Izzie's lab coat pocket before walking out of the room, and Izzie quickly shut the door of her locker before heading towards the nurse's station. There, she found several charts that needed completing, and she began writing furiously in an attempt to keep the mysterious riddle out of her head.

About forty-five minutes and three successfully completed charts later, Izzie quit writing and began leading her interns around the Surgery floor to perform rounds. She tried her hardest to focus and ensure that they were doing everything right, but it was difficult with the riddle playing over and over again in her head and her desperately trying to discover its meaning. She knew that the first line was talking about surgery—that much was obvious—and that the second line was a perfect explanation of how any future surgeon would feel if they weren't chosen to scrub in and assist on an operation. She assumed that the fourth line wouldn't help if she didn't figure out the third, and the latter was what was perplexing her.

"Dr. Stevens? Are you all right?" One of the interns was looking at her worriedly, jolting Izzie out of her reverie.

"What? Yes, I...Who's presenting?" Izzie asked, attempting to reenter reality.

"I am," answered the same intern. "Patient is a twenty-seven-year-old male, self-admitted to the ER last night and complaining of headaches. CT showed no abnormalities…" The remainder of the patient's description seemed to flutter directly over Izzie's head, but she somehow managed to ask the intern the appropriate questions. Still, she was relieved when Dr. Derek Shepherd, the head of neurosurgery, entered the room and took over the discussion.

It was a slow morning at Seattle Grace: there were no surgeries scheduled until 10:00 AM, two of her interns were temporarily running the clinic, and the Emergency Room was lacking incoming traumas. This left Izzie wandering around the floor. She had never gotten her cup of coffee, so she decided to use the rare but short break to get a hold of some caffeine and finally figure out the meaning of the note that was burning a metaphorical hole in her coat pocket.

While she walked toward the coffee stand, she realized that she hadn't even considered who might have left the piece of paper in her locker. She knew that she could definitely rule out Dr. Bailey, for she was simply too busy to even consider such a stunt. Neither Drs. Cristina Yang nor Alex Karev were an option either: both were too cynical. That left Drs. Meredith Grey and George O'Malley. Meredith was certainly "dark and twisty," but she could be a caring person when the situation called for it; though, Izzie couldn't imagine why Meredith would want to be so friendly now, when she had always been buddy-buddy with Cristina. George, on the other hand, was Izzie's best friend, and he knew that she had been going through a rough time with Alex, who had completely turned against her in an attempt to protect his psychologically damaged ex-girlfriend, Rebecca.

It has to be George, thought Izzie with a smile on her face. I knew he could be there for me when I needed him.

As she leaned against the railing of the walkway that spanned the length of the hospital's atrium, she returned to contemplating the meaning of the third line. What do they mean, "watch from up above"? I'm not God, and I'm definitely not Houdini, so I know I can't magically hover above the operating table. Obviously. Izzie knew that she was making this more difficult than it probably was.

"Hey, Izzie. Are you alive?" asked a woman's voice. Izzie looked up and saw Meredith standing in front of her.

"Oh, hi, Meredith. Um…yeah, I'm fine. Just daydreaming," Izzie replied. She wasn't sure if she wanted to reveal the somewhat-cheesy riddle to Meredith.

"About what?" insisted Meredith.

Where's the harm? If she's the one that left the note, maybe she'll slip up, Izzie thought.

"Well, it's this riddle. I…found it in this book of…medical word puzzles," Izzie lied. "I've been trying to figure it out all morning." The words sounded idiotic as they tumbled out of her mouth, but Meredith seemed to believe her.

"What's the riddle? I'm pretty good with word games," said Meredith.

"Oh, well…it goes like this." Izzie repeated the riddle to her friend and colleague and waited as Meredith absorbed what she'd said. Meredith's eyes narrowed, and she turned her head towards the ceiling as she began pondering the answer. After about thirty seconds, she looked at Izzie and smiled triumphantly.

"The gallery! It's talking about the gallery! You didn't get to scrub in on a surgery, so you're sad, and you have to watch it from somewhere else. The gallery is right above the operating room! And, it's definitely not as rad as scrubbing in!" exclaimed Meredith.

Instantly, Izzie understood.

"God, you're right. I'm such an idiot, Meredith. Thank you," Izzie said, shaking her head in disbelief at her own inability to figure out something so simple.

"Sure. Though, I'm not sure what the last line is talking about. Anyway, I gotta go. I'm scrubbing in on Hahn's surgery at ten." Meredith ambled off towards Surgery, leaving Izzie to contemplate the last line of the riddle.

2, front and center…2, front and center…

Izzie wasn't entirely sure, but she guessed that the number was referring to which O.R.'s gallery she should go to. Not wanting to waste any more time, she quickly left the atrium, took the elevator to the Surgery floor, and half-ran to O.R. 2. Luckily, it was still before ten, so the gallery was empty. She stood at the window and gazed down into the room below. Even after years of hard work and preparation, there were still moments of disbelief when she could hardly accept that she had made it this far, that she was actually a doctor.

Doctor Isobel Stevens. The title rang like honey in her thoughts, sweetly coursing through all of the blood vessels in her brain. One thing Izzie had learned in medical school was that it took a special kind of person to become a physician, as evidenced by the numerous classmates she had watched suffer through lectures, fail exams, and ultimately drop out.

I'm one of those special people. Me. The model. Izzie smiled to herself before remembering that she was in the gallery for a reason. She was almost certain that she was in the right place, but what was she looking for?

"Something that's front and center…But what?" Izzie spoke under her breath. She continued to stand at the window of the gallery, in front of all the chairs, and tried to decipher the last and final part of the riddle.

Suddenly, it came to her. Wait a minute…I AM front and center! I'm in the front and center of the room! Izzie silently exclaimed to herself. But what's here? There's nothing here...unless…

On an impulsive flash of insight, Izzie turned around and stared at the three rows of chairs in front of her. Starting at each end of the first row, she used her hands to count towards the center chair, and she took a step towards it. She looked all around the top and back of the chair but discovered nothing. Finally, she carefully tipped the chair towards the back wall to look underneath. Despite the strange placement of the note in her locker that morning, she was still surprised at what she found taped to the bottom of the chair.

It was another piece of paper, exactly the same as the one she had discovered earlier. The note was folded into fourths and had her name written in similar scribble on the top flap. Besides the obvious fact that it was addressed to her, Izzie knew that she was meant to find it. Unless someone was crawling underneath the chairs for no apparent reason, there was no way anyone else could have known it was there.

More curious than ever, Izzie grabbed the paper, opened it, and began to read.