The Queen Anne brownstone was no longer just a sanctuary; it had become a legal war room. Jack Brady sat at the mahogany dining table, surrounded by discovery motions and ballistics reports. He was lead counsel for the victims of the shooting, and his primary target was the hospital's security lapses.
"You're suing my employer while I'm trying to save their clinical trial, Jack. The irony is almost as thick as your brief," Christopher drawled, leaning over Jack's shoulder to inspect a crime scene photo.
"I'm suing the corporation, Christopher. I'm protecting the man who took a bullet for me," Jack replied, pulling Christopher down for a brief, grounding kiss. "How is the Alzheimer's data looking?"
"It's compromised," Christopher whispered, his voice dropping into a clinical monotone. "And not by the pathology."
He returned to Grey Sloan the next morning with a mission. He knew the script: Meredith Grey would switch the placebos to save Adele Webber. It was a beautifully tragic mistake that would destroy the trial.
Christopher intercepted Meredith in the labs, where the randomized envelopes were kept.
"Step away from the inventory, Grey," Christopher said, his voice a razor-sharp monotone.
Meredith jumped, clutching an envelope to her chest. "Dr. Wright! I was just... checking the batch numbers."
"You were checking if Adele Webber was getting the active agent or the sugar pill," Christopher countered, stepping into her space. "I've already re-coded the database. The randomization is now encrypted beyond even your reckless capacity for empathy."
"But Adele is deteriorating!" she hissed.
"And falsifying data will kill the trial for every other patient, Meredith. Including Thatcher, eventually," Christopher snapped. "I've optimized the dosage in the trial protocol. We don't need to cheat to win. We just need to follow the The Wright Way."
He took the envelope from her shaking hands. He was protecting the trial and Jack's reputation simultaneously. If the hospital fell to research fraud, Jack's litigation would be worthless.
"Go back to neurosurgery, Grey," Christopher drawled. "And try not to play God without a license. It's messy."
He walked out, his phone vibrating with a text from Jack. "The Gary Clark trial is set for October. I need your deposition on the tackle. Are you ready to testify? - J"
Christopher smirked, a genuine, unscripted expression. He was saving the science and securing the justice. The future was unwritten, but he was holding the pen.