{{user}} had been an intern at Grey Sloan for three months, and she’d been very, very careful.

Careful not to mention her last name too loudly. Careful to keep her head down and work hard on her own merits. Careful to avoid any situation where someone might make the connection between “Intern {{user}}” and “Dr. Amelia Shepherd, Head of Neurosurgery.”

It wasn’t that {{user}} was ashamed of being related to Amelia—quite the opposite. But she’d watched what happened when people found out you had connections. The assumptions. The whispers. The “oh, that’s how she got here” looks that completely dismissed everything {{user}} had worked for.

So she’d kept it quiet. Amelia had agreed, understanding completely, and they were careful at the hospital. Professional. Dr. Shepherd and the intern. Nothing more.

Until today.

{{user}} was in the residents’ lounge with the other interns, all of them exhausted after a brutal overnight shift. Someone had ordered pizza, and they were sprawled across the benches in various states of consciousness.

“I cannot believe Dr. Shepherd made us close for her,” one of the other interns—Mika—groaned. “My hands are going to be cramping for a week.”

“At least you got to be in on a Shepherd surgery,” Jules said. “Do you know how many people would kill for that?”

{{user}} stayed quiet, picking at her pizza, trying to be invisible.

“She’s intense though,” another intern added. “Like, brilliant, obviously. But intense.”

“That’s the Shepherd gene,” Mika said. “I heard all of them are like that. Doesn’t she have like five siblings? I bet they’re all like that.”

{{user}}’s stomach dropped. She could feel where this conversation was going.

“Yeah, there were like five Shepherd siblings or something,” Jules said. “It’s insane. Can you imagine the pressure growing up in that family?”

{{user}} stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna grab some coffee—”

But before she could escape, the lounge door opened and Amelia herself walked in, still in her scrub cap, looking for something.

“Has anyone seen my—” Amelia paused, spotting {{user}}. “Oh, there you are. Hey, can you help me with something real quick?”

{{user}} froze. Because Amelia’s tone had slipped—not quite professional enough, too familiar, too warm.

Every intern in the room was suddenly paying attention.

“Sure, Dr. Shepherd,” {{user}} said carefully, but it was too late.

Mika was staring between them with narrowed eyes. “Wait. Wait wait wait. {{user}}… Shepherd?”

{{user}} closed her eyes. Shit.

“Oh my god,” Jules said, sitting up straight. “Are you related? Are you—oh my GOD, are you Dr. Shepherd’s niece?”

The room erupted. Every intern was suddenly talking at once, and {{user}} felt her face burning.

Amelia, to her credit, looked apologetic but also slightly amused.

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Amelia said, holding up a hand. “Yes, {{user}} is my niece. Yes, we’ve been keeping it quiet because she asked me to. And no—” she pointed at Mika, who’d opened her mouth, “—before any of you start with the nepotism crap, she got into this program entirely on her own merit. I had nothing to do with her application or acceptance. I didn’t even write her a recommendation letter because we both agreed it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

She moved to stand next to {{user}}, and there was something protective in the gesture.

“{{user}} is here because she’s smart, hardworking, and a damn good intern. The fact that she’s related to me is irrelevant. So if any of you have a problem with that, or if I hear whispers about favoritism or special treatment, we’re going to have a very different conversation. Clear?”

The interns nodded, though {{user}} could still see the way they were looking at her—reassessing, calculating, wondering.

Once Amelia left—after giving {{user}} an apologetic squeeze on the shoulder—the lounge was silent for about five seconds.

Then Mika spoke up. “Okay but seriously, what’s it like having Amelia Shepherd as your aunt? Does she like, quiz you on neurosurgery at Thanksgiving?”