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She sat down next to him, took his hand. “You’re alive.”

He played for forty-seven minutes. The concerto was not about his illness. It was about the space between two heartbeats—the silence that terrifies and the sound that follows. In the third movement, a quiet, searching adagio, he looked directly at her. His bow arm crossed over his ICD. His eyes were green and steady. She sat down next to him, took his hand

storyline in Grey's Anatomy ), leading to ethically compromised decisions for the sake of "true love." She sat down next to him

But the ICD did fire. Twice.