Medical Center
Emergency Room
Woo-woo-woo!
The piercing wail of an ambulance siren cut through the air again. Adam bolted toward it.
"Highway crash—two teenage guys, both wearing seatbelts, thrown from the car. This one had a sudden heart attack, unresponsive, vitals barely there," the paramedic barked out fast.
Adam jumped into action—CPR, the whole resuscitation drill. But the damage was brutal. Brain matter was spilling out, a sickening mess. After injecting atropine and pushing CPR for nearly ten minutes, he stopped.
"Time of death, 7:33," he said, glancing at the clock.
Another car crash victim. Last time, Adam had battled for over an hour and pulled off a miracle. This time? Ten minutes, and he called it. Sure, the injuries were different, but there was more to it. The cop who came with them said this kid was a street racer—blew a red light on the highway and killed a 22-year-old girl. They got rushed here first, while the innocent victim, her neck snapped, was left at the scene. No shot at making it to the hospital.
Adam was a doctor, not a judge. But for a reckless killer like this? He'd stick to the playbook—no heroics.
"Need help!" Susan's voice rang out from the next room.
Adam shoved the door open. The second guy from the wreck was here now, thrashing in agony.
"Ahh! It hurts so bad!" he screamed, flailing so hard Susan and a nurse couldn't pin him down.
"Adam, help me hold him!" Susan's face lit up when she saw him. Adam's strength was the stuff of legends around here.
"On it." Adam stepped up and pressed the guy down. Instantly, he went still, like he'd been hit with a freeze ray.
"Nice!" Susan grinned 😊, finally able to check him out.
"Prep for peritoneal lavage," she said.
It's a test for internal bleeding—slice a small hole in the belly, pump in saline, and if blood flows out, it's surgery time.
"No need," Adam cut in after a quick look. "He's bleeding internally. OR, now."
"You sure?" Susan blinked.
"Dead sure." Adam nodded.
"Alright then." Susan locked eyes with him and trusted his gut. She might be the ER resident, and Adam just her intern, but everyone knew who the real star was.
"Call the OR—we're on our way," she ordered.
Internal bleeding doesn't mess around; every second counts.
"OMG! Larry's dead!" the guy on the gurney yelled as they rolled him past the room where his buddy lay lifeless.
"Am I gonna die too?!"
"We'll do everything we can to save you," Susan said, her voice steady and warm.
The nurse got on the phone with the OR.
"What? All booked? Can't you squeeze us in? No? This is for Dr. Duncan! OR 5 can bump someone? Perfect, we're heading to OR 5!"
She hung up and dashed to catch Adam's crew. "Dr. Duncan, OR 5!"
Then she sprinted ahead, holding doors open like a pro.
OR 5
"They're all slammed," Susan said, scrubbing in after getting the go-ahead from the attending.
"Looks like it's up to us."
"No sweat—we've got this," Adam said with a grin , scrubbing up next to her.
"You take the lead," Susan said with a little laugh.
She was an ER resident—sure, she could handle surgery, but her deal was stabilizing patients and passing them off to the surgeons. She didn't rack up OR hours like Bailey, the surgical resident. When it was crunch time and everyone else was tied up, she'd step in, but confidence? Not exactly overflowing.
"You sure?" Adam raised an eyebrow.
Doctors—especially residents—lived for surgeries. It's how they sharpened their skills, their ticket to the big leagues.
"I'm sure," Susan said with a smile. "You're the surgeon here, right?"
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Adam gave her a look. Classic Susan—Saint Susan—always putting the patient over her own growth. In her mind, with a sharper surgeon like Adam in the room, it only made sense for him to cut. If it were Christina? She'd dive in headfirst and only hand it over if she crashed and burned. That's the God complex of a hardcore surgeon. Susan? No wonder she swapped surgery for the ER.
"Alright," Adam agreed.
Everything was ready. Adam took his spot at the table, nodded to Susan across from him, and held out his hand. "Scalpel."
The scrub nurse slapped it into his palm. With calm, steady hands, he made the incision.
"Everyone says you're a theory genius, but I think you're even better with a blade," Susan said, watching his slick moves.
"For now, theory's still my thing," Adam said, playing it humble.
The surgery went smooth as butter. Afterward, Susan bolted—her cranky dialysis patient was waiting.
Nurses' Station
Adam strolled up and heard the dialysis guy—let's call him Mr. Rant—already going off.
"Who told you to do that?!" he snapped.
"I already lined up a doctor for you," Susan said, her patience fraying.
"Dr. Lewis pulled strings to get the clinic to take him back, and he's being a total jerk."
"He even cussed out Dr. Duncan."
"What a creep."
The nurses weren't holding back.
"I'm not going!" Mr. Rant crumpled the appointment slip and chucked it at Susan's face.
"Mr. Rack," Susan said, her voice tight. She took a deep breath. "If you don't go, you'll end up back here, and none of us want that."
"Shut up!" he barked.
"Excuse me?" Susan's jaw dropped.
"Are you deaf?" He jabbed a finger at her. "I said shut up, you nauseating idiot!"
Adam had seen enough. He waved a nurse over to call security.
Susan walked back to the station, her face flashing shock, hurt, then anger. Her kindness had been trashed—again.
"Don't let him get to you," Adam said quietly.
Susan shook her head, her eyes catching a potted sunflower on the desk. A lightbulb went off.
Security showed up, but Susan held up a hand to stop them. Instead, she slapped on a sugary smile and marched back to Mr. Rant.
A few minutes later:
"Good Lord, I'm not a baby," Mr. Rant grumbled. "Can't you just stick it in my mouth?"
"Sorry, hospital rules. I'll be back in ten," Susan said, smirking as she yanked the curtains around his bed wide open.
"Wait, what about my privacy?!" he yelped.
There he was, pants down, bent over for a rectal temp check. The room barely held it together, stifling laughs.
"What's so funny? Never seen a temp taken before?" he growled.
Everyone bit their lips, dying inside. And there, leaning toward the crowd, was that sunflower, beaming like it was in on the joke