Chapter 6: Neurosurgeon Standoff

"It's the biggest facial tumor I've ever seen," said Mark in shock. "And that's saying something!"

"I know," Derek shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't understand why the parents of this girl haven't taken her to a specialist before. She was practically house bound, and they watched it grow."

The two of them were standing by the nurses' station discussing the case they were working on together.

"Do you seriously think she has any chance of recovery? Is it really worth a try?"

"She's 17. I'll say it's worth a try." The girl's condition was undeniably serious. The tumor not only deformed her face and obstructed respiration, what was the worst and the most dangerous was that it contained the tissue expanding from the brain. Despite all that adversities, Derek wanted to give it a try. He always did, even in the worst scenario cases. He loved to fight for the patient's life, against all odds. "Anyway, we'll discuss it later. I have to be in the OR in 20 minutes."

Derek was putting away the chart of the tumor patient when he saw a group of interns and among them the one who was assigned to work with him, passing by chatting excitedly.

"Dr. Johnson, what are you doing here?" he asked, frowning at the intern. "You're supposed to be prepping my patient."

"Er… what patient?" asked the girl, lack of understanding painted on her face.

"Mr. Livingstone, 63, early stage of Parkinson, scheduled for DBS in… 16 minutes. Ever heard of him?" said Derek sarcastically.

"Oh, him! But… the procedure has been rescheduled-"

"I haven't rescheduled anything. If you want me to overlook your incompetence and let you scrub in, I advise you to take care of Mr. Livingstone at once!"

Shit, thought Johnson, Shepherd doesn't know anything. Why does it always have to be me?

"But… It's…" stammered out. "It's been rescheduled… The OR's busy."

Derek's eyes fixed at her as he finally understood what was going on. Someone bumped his surgery…

"On whose order?" asked Derek.

"The Chie- that is Dr. Mod- I mean Dr. Grey's."

She's operating, that should be interesting…

"I thought he was going to kill me," said weakly Johnson, watching his retreating back.

"Nah, he's going to kill Dr. Model!" disagreed her friend.

"Did you see that look on his face? He absolutely hates her."

One of the girls giggled, "Yeah, I would be pissed off to if someone stole my job… and my OR!"

"They'll make quite a pair when he's appointed as Deputy!"

When Derek arrived at the gallery, it was a full house. Apparently, everyone was driven with curiosity with the new chief's first procedure. He looked down on the OR and he had to blink several times to make sure he was seeing properly. He had never seen Meredith Grey in scrubs and the difference was staggering. She wasn't the Dr. Model anymore. She looked like a surgeon, a tiny surgeon. The indigo scrubs accentuated the petite size of her frame.

Not that it lessened her attractiveness… Derek hadn't ever imagined that plain loose clothes could look so enticing on anyone… He momentarily forgot his anger as he thought with a thrill how easy it would be to take the clothes off her. Just to tug at the string of her scrub pants…

Derek raked his hair with exasperation. Don't you think about her in that way. Even if she doesn't look like a bitch right now, she certainly is one. She would laugh herself silly if she knew you found her good-looking.

He tried to concentrate on her work, but it proved equally irritating. It didn't take to be a specialist, and Derek was one, to appreciate her skill. She might have been born with a scalpel in her tiny fist. How was it possible for a 28-year-old surgeon to possess such an impressive agility, self-confidence and experience? He didn't have all that at the age of 28; he also wasn't a chief at the age of 28…

How was it possible for a surgeon to work out such an experience and not lose the enthusiasm? Miranda was once again baffled by the woman who became her chief. To achieve the level she was presenting, she must have spent half of her young life in the OR. Her eyes still sparkled with exhilaration, all through her surgery; and when she answered the questions of her residents, her voice didn't carry the usual note of coldness and distance. Miranda had burnt herself out even before the end of her residency. Sure, she recovered from the crisis, but the surgery was never the same again.

Meredith scrubbed out of the procedure feeling elated. She had been deprived from the surgical dose of adrenaline far too long. She dried her hands, took her patient's chart and made towards the elevators. Somewhere before her a group of people were having an animated conversation. She stopped dead in her tracks at the mention of her name.

"Ok, I don't deny she's good with the scalpel," Meredith recognized the voice of the pinched-faced cardio attending, Cristina Yang. "But honestly, we all are. If that was the main criterion even George could be the Chief!"

"We know what's the criterion," said Izzie Stevens. "She's Ellis Grey's daughter."

And they're on again with the mommy crap!

"She knows how to play all right," said Derek heavily. "And yeah, the fact that her mother did her residency with Webber was probably decisive."

Wait! What? Richard Webber and her mother were colleagues? How… What…

Meredith experienced a sinking feeling in her stomach. Webber was enthusiastic, so encouraging… He wouldn't… would he?

Damn it! And these people! She was the nervous wreck again; this hospital and its employees were toxic. The vent room could certainly sooth her nerves but it was not an option; she would have to walk past them to get there.

"You're being unfair towards her," Meredith heard anger in George O'Malley's voice.

"Why do you keep defending her so ardently, George?" hissed Izzie.

"Why do you keep bashing her?" George stood his ground. "You keep coming up with some ridiculous accusations, and you know, they all turn completely untrue!"

"You're so naïve, Bambi," snorted Cristina.

Did she hear correctly? George O'Malley was standing up for her, risking his friendship with his own people.

Screw it! Was she afraid of them? She knew her worth; the motives for Webber's decision irrelevant. And you Shepherd, you're gonna pay for that mommy line!

At that very second, she didn't hate anyone as ferociously as him. Quite accidently, he provided her with information about her mother and Webber and as such, shook her confidence.

She came around the corner with loud footsteps making her presence known. They started to clear their throats meaningfully. Idiots!

"Is this some scrub party or are you waiting for patients to operate on themselves?" she growled at them. "I'm not paying you for leaning against the walls to stop them falling!"

"We… we're…" started Izzie, "exchanging our impressions after the amazing surgery we've just witnessed."

"Really? It was a standard textbook procedure," dismissed her Meredith. "Sucking up won't get you anywhere."

"What do you think about our modest ORs, Dr. Grey?" Mark Sloan tried to chat her up.

"They're not so modest," replied Meredith with a mischievous smile that brought on Derek a dread of foreboding. "I like particularly the room I was working in today. Actually, I'll be using from now on."

"It's assigned to the neuro department," said Derek drily.

"I am aware," assured him Meredith.

"I'm the head of the department," argued Derek, raising to his full height and looking down on Meredith. In her flat trainers, she was almost a head shorter than him.

"Yes, I thought we might hit a little snag," sighed Meredith. "You're the head of neuro but I am still the leading neurosurgeon in this hospital," she explained with poisonous sweetness.

"Sorry, dude. Looks like chief trumps head," chuckled Mark to relieve the palpable tension. It wouldn't end well for Derek if he tried to put any obstacles in her way. Despite her short height, she towered over all of them on too many levels.

"Dr. Sloan understands the situation," Meredith looked innocently at Derek.

"Where am I supposed to work, in the cafeteria?"

"Dr. Shepherd," Meredith shook her head, scandalized. "We're not in such a tragic situation. You'll just have to… learn to share with your colleagues. Besides, my OR won't always be busy. As the Chief, I have a full schedule of other obligations. And that is why I am forced to leave your charming company."

Who do you think I am, Dr. Grey? Derek fumed inside. I am a world-class surgeon, head of the department for four years, not some pushover…

"Shepherd, what did you do to piss her off that much?" whispered Cristina.