Ten days flew by in a flash. Medical Center. Entrance.
"Fair hours, fair pay!"
"Fair hours, fair pay!"
"Fair hours, fair pay!"
The hospital nurses were on strike, gathered on both sides of the entrance, holding up protest signs and chanting in rhythm under the nurse union organizer's lead. Their signs varied—besides the "Fair hours, fair pay" they kept shouting, there were ones like "Support nurses," "Nurses are essential," and "Don't cross the picket line."
This "picket line" was a bunch of red lines the striking nurses had drawn, kinda like the "38th parallel" Adam remembered drawing with his desk buddy back in grade school to mark territory. Except, unlike that single line, these picket lines were everywhere—covering nearly every hospital entrance. No dodging them!
Support the nurses? Don't cross the red line—basically, join the strike. Cross it? You're against them. An enemy.
It's an old-school American protest tradition. Who's with us? Who's against us? Oh, you're just a bystander who doesn't care either way? How dare you! No support = opposition. Opposition = enemy. No middle ground allowed. That's just how it rolls—deal with it! 😤
Security guards stood by, ready to step in if things got messy.
"Damn it!"
"Adam was right," Cristina and Liz muttered, brushing off whatever got thrown at them as they walked into the hospital.
"Told you so," Adam said, strolling up with a grin. "You didn't take it seriously."
"We're on their side!" Liz snapped, fuming. "And they still treat us like this?!"
"They don't see it that way," Adam chuckled. "Sure, doctors and nurses are partners, but our interests clash. The hospital's budget pie is pretty much fixed each year. Doctors get a bigger slice? Nurses get less. And that gap? It's huge.
You say you support them, but what have you done about it? If you were a nurse, what would you think?"
"…" Liz had no comeback. She grumbled, "It's the hospital's call, not ours as doctors."
"People are selfish—it's human nature," Adam shook his head. "How many stay rational when it's about money? You say doctors can't decide? Really?
If all the doctors backed the nurses and joined the strike, the hospital would grind to a halt. The strike would win faster and harder. Or, doctors could take a pay cut—use that cash to hire more nurses to cut hours or boost overtime pay for the ones here."
"No way!" Liz blurted out.
"Exactly," Adam laughed. "Why should you give up your own slice to help someone else? So, it's not crazy they don't buy your 'verbal support.'"
Taking a pay cut? Never gonna happen. People slog through med school and bust their butts to become doctors—mostly for the fat paycheck and prestige. Join the strike? Top docs might get away with it, but disposable interns like Liz? Pull that stunt, piss off the higher-ups, and they'd kick you out in a heartbeat, leaving a nasty mark on your record. Good luck getting a job in medicine after that.
With student loans piling up, you'd default, tank your credit, and in a credit-obsessed place like the U.S., no credit = no job. No job = broke. Broke = more debt. It's a vicious cycle that lands way too many people on the streets, just giving up.
All those homeless folks? Not everyone's just mooching off welfare. Plenty get trapped in a spiral after a crash or bankruptcy—no way out, no second chance. It's brutal out there. 😞
"Then why don't you support them?" Liz shot back, sarcastic.
"I'm like you—just talk," Adam grinned. "But I don't expect them to buy it. See, I'm crashing at the hospital till the strike's over. No showing my face out there, no drama. Easy!"
"I'm not going home either," Cristina nodded. "What's the big deal? Stay at the hospital—suits me fine. I didn't want to go back anyway…"
"Rough times living with Dr. Burke?" Adam teased.
Cristina rolled her eyes, not even bothering to respond.
Dr. Burke moved fast. Barely into their thing, he'd already pushed to move in together, pulling this "If you say no, you're breaking my heart" sad-puppy act. Cristina figured she'd scare him off by showing him her place—her literal doghouse.
Yup, a total mess! She never washes clothes—just tosses the dirty ones around her apartment and buys new ones. Why not hire a maid with all that cash? Oh, she tried. Multiple times. Every maid she hired ended up crying and quitting.
Cristina's a career-obsessed ice queen with a temper and a sharp tongue. She burned through staff till she just gave up. Her place? A trash heap—piles of junk everywhere. You'd think she was sabotaging her landlord on purpose.
She laid it all out, expecting Burke to bolt. But nope! Mr. "Idol Drama Lead" Burke—low-key fancy and spotless—stared in shock at first, then rolled with it. Now he's moved in, handling her food, clothes, everything. The guy's basically a overbearing CEO at this point.
And yet, Cristina still gripes and dodges going home.
Emmm. If she had even a shred of leading-lady looks, Adam might've pegged her as the real heroine here. Compared to Cristina's Burke, Meredith's dreamy Dr. Shepherd gets smoked in every category. 😂
"Who cares about them?" Cristina glanced around. "We're doctors—our job's surgery. The rest? Not our problem. They've got temp nurses to empty bedpans. That's enough."
"Wow, you're back at it—forgetting the pain once the scar heals," Adam warned. "Say that loud enough for it to get back to the nurses when they're on duty again, and you're toast. Plus, even with temps, our workload's about to spike these next few days."
"Why?" Cristina frowned.
"Because the temp nurses don't know this hospital," Adam sighed. "Newbies screw up—it's a given. Worse, half of them are still in nursing school, not even graduated. They barely know a thing. You gonna toss out orders and just trust they'll handle it?"
Cristina blinked, then let out the classic American gem:
"Son of a bitch!" 😡
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