Cafeteria
When Adam asked the question, George froze on the spot.
Crying during that moment—whether from joy or pain—neither seemed like a reason for him to be this mad.
"I'm not just some tool!"
After a brief daze, George snapped back, "Meredith and I have a real connection. Her choosing me proves it. Otherwise, why didn't she pick you?"
"Pfft!"
Bianca burst out laughing.
Adam's lip twitched.
Talk about selective blindness.
If I hadn't ignored her and dodged that whole mess, you wouldn't be stuck wondering which kind of tears they were! It'd be the full package—complicated, layered, dramatic, everything!
After lunch, Adam passed by a patient room and couldn't help but pause.
Inside, a patient was openly mocking Meredith.
"So, what's it like stealing someone else's husband?"
"What did you say?"
Meredith couldn't believe a patient was joining the pile-on.
"I didn't say you…" the woman replied, but her tone and expression screamed, "I'm totally talking about you husband-stealing tramps!"
"Jeff moved in with some long-legged chick who answered his phone. I was three weeks pregnant! I was carrying his twins, and he ditched me—ditched our kids—for that slut!"
Meredith stayed silent, quietly spreading ultrasound gel on the woman's belly.
"It's too cold!" the pregnant woman yelped.
"Sorry," Meredith mumbled. After a beat, she added, "I'm sorry about your husband, too."
"Are you sorry about Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd's husband as well?"
The patient didn't let up, jabbing right at Meredith's sore spot.
Dr. Shepherd's wife was Addison Montgomery-Shepherd—originally just Montgomery, she'd tacked on her husband's name after marriage. Both were top docs in their fields, but Addison insisted on being called Dr. Montgomery to stand apart, showcasing her independence and skill.
"…I'll run a few more tests," Meredith said after a long pause, swallowing her frustration and anger, her face blank.
"I bet Dr. Montgomery's the one making you work with her," the patient sneered, not letting Meredith off the hook. She was treating her like the poster child for homewreckers. "If it were me, I'd do the same!"
"I'll grab your test results!"
Meredith stood abruptly, threw out the line, and bolted. She wasn't sure she could keep it together much longer.
Hallway
"Don't overthink it. At least in this case, it's not your fault," Adam said, trying to comfort her.
"It is my fault!" Meredith shot back, her face still a mask. "If I weren't so blind, I'd have seen what a scumbag he was ages ago. So yeah, it's all on me!"
She turned and stormed off.
Adam shook his head, checked in at the Green Clinic—nothing major going on there—and headed to the ER.
With Snowy and Leonard looking out for him, plus his skills earning nods from attending docs like Leonard, Burke, and Shepherd, he had a ton of freedom. He was starting to feel more like a resident than an intern.
Afternoon
Near Clock-Out Time
ER
"What's the situation?"
"Multiple gunshot wounds. Pulse 150, irregular. BP's 50. We've got two IV lines running, but his pressure's still dropping!"
"Page Dr. Green! OR 4, now!"
Adam rushed the gurney toward the operating room. "Prep six units of O-neg!"
OR 4
"No blood pressure reading," a nurse warned. "Capillary refill's abnormal."
"He's bleeding out. Set up a pressure transfusion," Adam directed calmly. "Get me bilateral chest tubes. Prep to roll him!"
Once they flipped the patient over and Adam saw the gunshot wounds on his back, his pupils shrank. "Page Dr. Green again!"
"Yes, Doctor!" The nurse darted off.
"What's going on?" Leonard asked, rushing in moments later, scrubbed up.
"Young guy, multiple shots to the back, no exit wounds. Bilateral hemothorax. We've drained a liter from the left chest already. Breath sounds weak on both sides. I'm suturing the airway now," Adam reported, hands steady as he worked.
"Oh, God!" Leonard glanced at the wounds and winced. "Did someone hit him with a cannon?"
He grabbed the X-ray from a nurse and scanned it. "Bullet in the right ventricle."
"Cardiac tamponade, Dr. Green!" Adam said.
"Open him up, now!" Leonard ordered. "Thoracotomy kit!"
The surgical nurse handed it over.
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Leonard sliced into the chest with precision.
"No heartbeat. Tachycardia at 140. Pulse is faint, no BP," the nurse called out.
"Retractor," Leonard said.
Adam took it from the nurse and expertly held the incision open, giving Leonard a clear field.
"Prep 10 more units of O-neg!" Leonard instructed, mid-procedure. "Adam, get the cardiopulmonary bypass ready."
"Yes, Doctor!" Adam jumped into action, swift and decisive as ever.
But a strange feeling stirred in his chest.
If he was right, this patient would be the first he'd lose—despite all the effort, despite the surgery, dying right there in his hands.
The injuries were just too severe.
Leonard knew it too—why else would he blurt out that cannon comment? They were doing all they could and leaving the rest to fate.
And fate didn't pull through.
After 30 minutes of fighting, the patient succumbed to his wounds on the table.
"Doctors aren't gods," Adam sighed inwardly.
He stitched up the incision and stepped out of the OR.
The police were already there, asking basic questions. Adam learned the story from them.
The guy was an innocent bystander.
Walking past a little Eastern European-owned hotel, he got caught in a shootout between a Black robber and the store owner. The owner took out the robber on the spot. But the robber's bullets? Nearly all of them slammed into the poor guy's back.
Adam hated this kind of thing.
Amateurs who barely practiced, grabbed a gun, and hit the streets were way more dangerous than trained shooters. If Adam had been that bystander, he might've gotten hit too.
Who'd expect a guy spraying bullets at the owner to somehow send them flying the opposite way? Adam could practically picture it: the robber spinning, arm flailing, firing wildly.
Impossible to dodge. Terrifying.
Nurse's Station
"What's this?" Adam asked, eyeing a blood-stained gift box. "The patient's stuff?"
"Yeah," the nurse nodded.
"Have we reached his family?"
"We just found his emergency contact in the system. Calling now," she said, dialing.
Adam picked up a note attached to the box. It read: "So you'll have some music to go with your breakfast singing. Love, Max."
Ugh. Another kind, innocent soul.
In just over two months, this was the third one Adam had come across.
Whose tears were falling this time?
The call connected, and the nurse slipped into her professional tone. "Hello, this is New York Medical Center. Am I speaking to Tracy McConnell…?"
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