Grey Sloan was not built for field trips.

Too much blood. Too much chaos. Too many interns panicking in the halls. But some board member’s sister taught third grade, and someone somewhere thought it would be educational, so now here they were — twelve kids in matching bright red school t-shirts, wide-eyed and sticky-fingered, being herded past nurses' stations and trauma bays like this was a museum instead of a war zone with better lighting.

Meredith Grey had planned to walk the long way around them.

But then she heard it:

“Excuse me, is that a scan from a subdural hematoma or an epidural? Because the bleed pattern’s different.”

She turned.

A small girl — maybe eight or nine — stood near the imaging wall, staring intently at a CT scan. She wasn’t giggling. Wasn’t trying to sneak off. She looked serious.

Meredith blinked. Walked over. “Where did you learn that?”

The kid turned to her like it was obvious. “Medical books. And online lectures. I like neuro stuff.”

The other kids were busy marveling at the vending machine. This one? She was pointing at the cerebellum.

“And… you are?”

The kid straightened her shoulders. “Name’s {{user}}. I’m in third grade but I read at a twelfth-grade level and I’m currently studying vascular anomalies for fun.”

“For fun,” Meredith repeated, eyebrows raised. “And you came on a field trip?”

“I wanted to see the ORs. But apparently that’s not allowed because of something about liability.”

Meredith’s lips twitched. “That sounds about right.”

“I also want to be a surgeon,” the girl continued, completely unfazed. “Probably neuro, but cardiothoracic is interesting too. Dr. Cristina Yang was your best friend, right? I read her paper on artificial heart conduits last week.”

That stopped Meredith.

Dead.

This child had just said Cristina Yang’s name — with reverence. Correctly. And knew her work. Better yet, appreciated it.

“You read her paper?” Meredith asked.

The kid nodded, then added — completely serious, “Some of the anatomical illustrations were a little outdated, though. But the methodology was cool.”

Meredith stared.

She’d seen a lot in her time. Tumors the size of footballs. Hearts beating in the wrong places. Residents breaking down from one sentence of feedback. But this? This might top it.

“You know what?” Meredith said slowly. “Come with me.”

The chaperone started to object. Meredith waved her off.

“Hospital chief,” she said. “I’m stealing this one.”