In the blink of an eye, it was already time to clock out.
Locker room.
"Hey, Adam, wanna hit the town with us tonight?"
Bald Chris threw out the invite with a grin.
"Yeah, man, I promise it'll be a blast!"
White Fatty Stu chimed in, his smirk dripping with sleaze.
"Nah, you guys go have fun," Adam said, shaking his head with a smile.
"Come on, don't be like that! Check this out—what do you think this is?"
Stu pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket, all $1 bills.
"You're heading to the strip club," Adam said, catching on instantly.
Those small bills were perfect for tipping—strip club standard. One big note could get you a pile of ones to toss around.
"Adam, you sound like a pro," Stu teased, giving him a knowing look, like he'd just cracked some big secret.
"I've been before. It's not that exciting," Adam replied casually, not bothering to play coy.
Back in the day, he'd dragged Chandler along to distract him from Joey's girlfriend. But for someone like Adam, who'd seen bigger things, those places were kind of a yawn.
"Alright, fair point. With Adam's game, does he even need to go there?"
Bald Chris cut off whatever Stu was about to say next.
His invite was just a formality anyway—he'd known all along Adam wouldn't tag along.
"Fine, whatever," Stu muttered, shooting Adam a look that screamed you don't know what you're missing. He threw on a jacket over his blue scrub shirt—didn't even bother changing—and bolted out with Chris, who was rocking the same look.
Adam couldn't help but wonder if it was on purpose.
To paraphrase the golden-armored warrior Zhang Yida: If you rip off the price tag, how's anyone supposed to know if you're wearing designer threads or thrift store junk?
For Bald Chris and White Fatty Stu, hitting the strip club with a stack of small bills was one thing—but what screamed "charm" louder than a peek of that blue surgeon's shirt?
Don't underestimate a broke kid's hustle.
Who knows? Maybe some sharp-eyed stripper would spot their potential and decide to foot the bill herself.
Then again, it probably had something to do with the fact that interns like them made peanuts, spent a ton, and were perpetually strapped for cash.
If they had real money, they'd slap a few hundred bucks on the stage and watch the dancers flock their way.
Adam changed out of his scrubs and headed to the hospital lobby. There, he saw Meredith—dressed in casual clothes—walking over to Dr. Shepherd, who was lounging on a sofa in his own off-duty gear.
Shepherd stood up, adjusting Meredith's coat with zero hesitation. The vibe was so cozy it was practically a neon sign screaming, We're a couple!
Okay, fine.
The whole hospital already knew about them anyway.
Word had spread like wildfire. Meredith had even caught hell from Dr. Bailey over it—days of grunt work, the dirtiest, most mindless tasks thrown her way as punishment.
But she'd toughed it out. At one point, she'd even snapped at Bailey: "This is true love. It's my choice. You don't get a say. Bring on whatever punishment you've got—I can handle it."
Dr. Shepherd outranked Bailey, after all.
Bailey made her point and let it drop. She wasn't about to go full throttle on the boss's girlfriend—unless she wanted Shepherd to turn the tables and make her life miserable too.
So Meredith "won." Bailey was "touched" by her true-love speech, and that was that.
Now, this public PDA was Meredith's silent victory lap.
Look at us! Out in the open!
They spotted Adam.
Meredith flashed him a smile.
Dr. Shepherd gave him a nod.
Adam nodded back with a polite grin—then saw Shepherd's face freeze. Weird.
Next thing he knew, a tall redhead strutted in, rocking sky-high heels, heading straight for the happy couple.
"No way," Adam muttered to himself. "This can't be that cliché, right?"
"Meredith, I'm so sorry," Dr. Shepherd said, his voice stiff as he glanced at his girlfriend with an apologetic look.
Meredith just stood there, totally lost.
What the hell was happening?
"Addison, what are you doing here?" Shepherd asked, turning to the redhead now planted in front of them, one hand on her hip.
"If you'd bothered to pick up my calls, you'd know why," she shot back, her presence commanding the room. Then she extended a hand to Meredith—who was still clueless but already sensing something awful—and said, "Hi, I'm Addison Shepherd."
"Shepherd?"
Meredith nearly lost it.
Same last name as her boyfriend, but this woman sure didn't look like his sister.
"So, you're my husband's little side piece?" Addison added, her tone smooth and generous, shattering Meredith's last shred of delusion.
"I'm the other woman…"
That thought echoed in Meredith's head like a broken record.
She'd risked being ostracized, taken Bailey's punishment head-on, and boldly declared her true love with the boss's boss, Dr. Shepherd.
And now? She was just some naive mistress.
Addison's mocking stare was the final straw. Meredith turned and bolted.
"Meredith!"
Shepherd reached for her, but she yanked her arm away, her glare full of loathing. It stopped him cold.
"Adam!"
Spotting Adam—who'd had his fill of the soap opera and was about to slip away—Shepherd called out, "Keep an eye on Meredith for me."
Adam sighed inwardly but nodded. Off he went after her.
Shepherd dropping the formal "Duncan" for a straight-up "Adam" wasn't a request—it was an order.
Adam when there's a favor, Duncan when there's not.
Shepherd was nothing if not practical.
Sure, Adam could've said no to this personal mess.
But it was just one night of babysitting, making sure Meredith didn't do anything stupid in her emotional spiral. Whether as her friend or to score points with an attending physician, Adam wasn't about to turn it down.
Across from the medical center.
Joe's Bar.
Adam saw Meredith charge inside and exhaled in relief.
Drowning her sorrows in booze? Classic Meredith.
He followed her in and watched as she plopped down at the bar, slammed back a whiskey in one gulp, and flipped the glass upside down with a loud thwack.
Joe, the bartender and owner, refilled it without a word.
Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!
Three shots down in a row before she finally slowed down.
Adam winced. This drinking pace was scary.
Especially since Meredith had a legendary knack for "100% drunk and dropping pants."
Once she got wasted and started acting out, a guy like Adam was in serious danger.
And even if he held firm and said no, she'd probably just turn her sights on some other dude.
Watching someone else unwittingly gift Shepherd a green hat?
As for that favor from Shepherd—uh, yeah, that could get complicated.
Adam started sifting through his mental database of Dr. Shepherd intel, seriously weighing the odds of how this night might play out.