Christopher didn't lunge for the podium. A public scene would just make him look like a petulant child, and Richard Webber had a low tolerance for "prodigy tantrums." Instead, he caught Nick's eye and jerked his head toward the sterile hallway.
Nick smirked—that infuriatingly relaxed, "I've already won" expression—and stepped back into the shadows of the corridor. Christopher met him there, the air still smelling of the future surgery he'd just finished.
"Impressive timing, Christopher," Nick said, leaning his shoulder against a locker. "But the Chief is about to say my name. I'd hate to keep the applause waiting."
"Don't take it," Christopher said, his voice a low, vibrating blade. "This isn't your hospital, Nick. Not yet. You're a transplant that's going to be rejected by the host. Seattle Grace isn't built for your brand of... whatever this is."
Nick stepped closer, his height designed to intimidate, but Christopher didn't give an inch. "I think you're scared. You like being the only one with the answers, the only one who knows which way the wind blows. But I'm a variable you didn't account for. I'm the promotion you didn't see coming."
"I see everything," Christopher hissed, his sarcasm finally giving way to a raw, desperate urgency. "I know about the kidney transplant you're going to need. I know about the cabin in Minnesota. I know that if you stay here now, you're not just changing your life—you're erasing the life of the woman you're supposed to love ten years from now. If you take this job, you and Meredith Grey will never happen. You'll be her boss's boss, a rival, a footnote. You'll kill the only future where you're actually happy."
The smirk on Nick's face faltered. For the first time, the rugged confidence flickered. "How do you know about the kidney? I haven't even seen a nephrologist yet."
"Because I've seen the series finale, Nick! Or at least the mid-season cliffhanger," Christopher snapped, his internal monologue screaming at the absurdity of it all. "If you take this job, Burke leaves. If Burke leaves, the interns don't become the surgeons they need to be. The plane will still crash, the bomb will still go off, but they won't be ready. You're playing Jenga with people's lives."
From the gallery, Richard's voice boomed: "It gives me great pleasure to introduce..."
Nick looked at the door, then back at Christopher. His hand went to his side, right where his failing kidney would eventually betray him. "You're a terrifying person, Wright. You know that?"
"I'm a realist. Go in there and tell him you have a 'prior commitment' in Rochester. Do it now, or I'll tell Addison Montgomery exactly which hotel room Derek is staying in tonight—and I'll make sure she finds you in there with him."
Nick let out a short, dry laugh. "You'd ruin my reputation just to keep the status quo?"
"I'd ruin this entire city to keep the stars aligned," Christopher said.
Nick straightened his tie, his gaze lingering on Christopher with a mix of respect and genuine fear. He turned and pushed through the gallery doors just as Richard said, "...our new Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery—"
"Chief," Nick interrupted, his voice projecting over the crowd. "I'm honored. Truly. But I'm afraid I have to decline. Personal matters in Minnesota require my immediate and permanent attention."
The room erupted in whispers. Richard looked like he'd been slapped. Christopher leaned against the wall in the hallway, closing his eyes as his heart hammered against his ribs.
He'd saved the timeline. For now.
But as he opened his eyes, he saw a figure standing at the far end of the hall. It was Cristina Yang, awake, pale, and leaning heavily against the wall. She was staring at him with a look of terrifying clarity.
"I heard you," she whispered, her voice rasping from the intubation. "I heard what you said to him. About the plane crash. About the bomb. Christopher... what is a 'series finale'?"