The locker room. A herd of nervous, over-caffeinated twenty-somethings in short white coats that are too white. Cristina Yang, already diagnosing everyone’s posture. Izzie Stevens, former model, hiding her lingerie ads under a pile of textbooks. George O’Malley, kind eyes, desperate to be seen as a man and not a puppy. Alex Karev, leaning against a locker like he’s already bored of you.

In the scrub room, Meredith freezes. Derek finds her there.

“One night,” she whispers, sneaking out of his hotel room. “No strings.”

“Season one is only nine episodes. Not because they ran out of stories, but because in the beginning, you don’t need a long time to change everything. You need a single moment. A code blue. A wrong suture. A ‘Hi, I’m Dr. Shepherd.’ You think you’re learning how to be a surgeon. But really? You’re learning how to survive the people you fall in love with.”

Meredith stands in the middle of the hospital hallway. Gurneys rush past. A nurse calls for a crash cart. The elevator doors open. Derek is inside. He doesn’t say “get in.” He just looks at her.