orchestrate the "McMarried" reveal
Christopher didn't do "frantic," but he could do "calculated chaos" with his eyes closed. If he needed to blow up the hospital's social ecosystem to save Cristina, he'd do it with a smirk and a metaphorical match.
"Fine," Christopher told DeLuca, already moving toward the elevators. "Go save Yang. Try not to look too 'intern-of-the-future' while you're at it."
He didn't head for the OR. He headed for the lobby, calculating the exact trajectory of Addison Forbes Montgomery. He knew her style: she'd want an audience. She was a creature of high drama and higher thread counts.
He spotted her near the gift shop, looking like a literal goddess of discord in a navy trench coat. She was looking at a hospital map with an expression of profound boredom.
"Looking for the man of the hour?" Christopher asked, sliding into her orbit with a practiced, charming arrogance. "Or just the man who ran away to the rainy city?"
Addison arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "And you are? Aside from being far too young for those credentials on your lab coat."
"Dr. Christopher Wright. I'm the one who actually runs this place while Derek Shepherd is busy practicing his 'brooding outdoorsman' look," he replied, his voice dripping with dry wit. "He's currently in the North Gallery. With his... intern."
He let the word 'intern' hang in the air like a bad smell. Addison's eyes sharpened. The trap was set.
"An intern? How very cliché of him," she murmured, a dangerous glint appearing in her gaze. "Lead the way, Dr. Wright. I'd hate to keep my husband waiting."
Christopher didn't just lead her; he choreographed it. He checked his watch, timing the walk so they would arrive at the gallery bridge exactly when the shift change happened—when the hallways were flooded with nurses and the other interns.
As they rounded the corner, he saw them. Derek was leaning in close to Meredith, his hand resting on the small of her back as they whispered over a chart. It was the picture of illicit hospital romance.
"Dr. Shepherd!" Christopher called out, his voice projected just loud enough to turn every head in the corridor. "There's someone here who's been dying to see your new 'lifestyle' in Seattle."
Derek turned, a smile already forming—a smile that died a horrific, public death the moment he saw Addison standing there, framed by the afternoon sun.
Meredith froze, her eyes darting between the two of them. The air in the hallway turned to ice.
"Addison," Derek choked out, his face losing all color.
"And you must be the woman who's been sleeping with my husband," Addison said, her voice a calm, lethal blade that echoed through the silent hallway.
The gasp from the surrounding staff was audible. Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher saw George and Izzie's jaws literally drop. The "McDreamy" myth was shattered in a single sentence.
While the hospital's heart stopped, Christopher's pager buzzed—a discreet vibration. Yang is on the table. We're in.
Christopher leaned against the wall, watching the wreckage of Meredith's heart with a pang of guilt he quickly suppressed. "Well," he whispered to the empty space beside him, "at least the soundtrack is good."
But then, he noticed something wrong. Derek wasn't looking at Addison with guilt. He was looking at Christopher with a sudden, terrifying recognition.
"Christopher," Derek said, his voice low and dangerous, ignoring his wife entirely. "How did you know she was coming today? I didn't even know she was coming today."