After grabbing a quick, messy bite to eat, it was apparently afternoon tea time.
Everyone drifted away from the snack cart.
Adam swung by Ward 2 to check on Bill. The guy's mood was obviously in the dumps—Burke must've dropped the truth bomb on him.
There wasn't much Adam could say about it.
That's just the harsh reality.
Bill would have to tough it out on his own.
Still, Adam told the nurse to keep an extra eye on him and call him immediately if anything came up.
Then he hightailed it to the observation room.
That afternoon, Dr. Shepherd had a hemispherectomy lined up—a big-deal neurosurgery.
The patient was a two-year-old girl with Rasmussen's encephalitis. Half her brain was normal; the other half was pretty much toast.
The surgery meant cutting out all the damaged tissue—basically, removing the bad half of her brain.
Good thing she was only two. Her brain hadn't fully developed yet, so after the spinal fluid filled the empty space, the remaining neurons could regenerate and compensate.
In theory, if the surgery went well, she'd grow up living a normal life.
Adam really wanted in on this one.
But this time, Shepherd had specifically tapped George to assist, leaving Adam out in the cold.
For one, George was the girl's admitting doctor.
For two, Shepherd was clearly using this surgery as a bribe.
George was Meredith's roommate, and with Shepherd practically living at Meredith's place these days, he had to smooth over George's hostility somehow.
And what better way to win over an intern like George—making him drop the grudges and shout "heck yeah!"—than handing him a fancy neurosurgery?
That's power for you. Even a romantic rival gets turned into this.
Can you really blame people for doubting it's "true love" and calling it a shady power-play-slash-unmentionable-deal instead?
Get real.
In the observation room, overlooking the scrub area outside the OR:
"Here you go—double espresso, nice and warm," a surgical nurse said, handing Shepherd his coffee.
"I could kiss you for this," Shepherd replied, thanking her before downing it in one go.
This surgery was going to drag on for hours. He needed to stay razor-sharp.
Adam smirked at the sight.
Every lead surgeon has their go-to team.
Anesthesiologists, surgical nurses—if the vibe's good, they stick together for years.
Take that old nurse who'd come in with pancreatic cancer, waiting to die. She'd been Meredith's mom's dedicated OR nurse for a solid 18 years! They knew each other's quirks inside out, totally in sync.
It got Adam thinking—once he became a lead surgeon, he'd need to build his own crew.
What would his team look like?
Kinda exciting to imagine, honestly.
"Hope you brought a fresh crossword," Shepherd said, tossing his empty cup in the trash and casually greeting Dr. Taylor, the anesthesiologist he'd been working with since joining the medical center.
Dr. Taylor patted his chest pocket, where a crossword booklet was tucked away. "Always got it on me."
Anesthesiologists have it pretty chill compared to the rest. They just hang out in the OR the whole time, keeping an eye on the patient's sedation.
For a pro like Taylor, it was a cakewalk.
Which led to a little problem.
Picture an experienced driver cruising down an endless, empty highway—after a while, they might just nod off.
Anesthesiologists spend most of their time in the OR sitting around, waiting.
So how do they kill time?
On the surface, Taylor's thing was crosswords.
Under the table? A little nip of booze to take the edge off.
Adam, up in the observation room, raised an eyebrow.
Judging by this, George hadn't said a word, huh?
Right then, George glanced up, locking eyes with Adam for a split second before dropping his head and heading into the OR.
"Heh," Adam chuckled out loud.
Guess that sense of justice couldn't hold a candle to the sweet smell of a high-level neurosurgery—especially with the risk of getting on Taylor's bad side down the road.
"Welcome to the real world," Adam sighed to himself.
If George had picked up on it, did Shepherd and the nurses—who'd done tons of surgeries with Taylor—really not notice? Were their noses permanently stuffed up or something?
No way!
In fact, Adam had already heard the gossip from a nurse.
Everyone knew about Taylor's little habit.
There was even a running joke: Taylor was the best anesthesiologist in the center—if he ever got so plastered he couldn't do his crosswords, then they'd have a problem.
What else is there to say after that?
"Big day today, kid. Congrats," Taylor said warmly, giving George a friendly nod.
To Taylor, if Shepherd was bringing George into a surgery this major, it meant George was one of Shepherd's people. A little goodwill was cheap and easy.
"Thanks," George replied, his smile a bit forced. He couldn't help glancing up at Adam in the observation room again.
Adam shot him a friendly grin.
George gritted his teeth, looked away, and stared straight at Shepherd.
"What's up?" Shepherd asked casually, catching the blatant stare.
"Don't you smell…" George trailed off.
"Smell what?" Shepherd laughed, pointing at his mask. "I've got this on."
Up in the observation room, Adam winced. Oh man, I was just smiling like a normal, nice guy—no mocking intended! Don't overthink it, George!
Too late. Young and hot-headed, George was already worked up.
He glanced at the anesthetized little girl, then couldn't hold back anymore. "Sorry, Dr. Taylor, but… have you been drinking?"
"Say that again?!" Taylor's face darkened, his eyes boring into George.
The OR went dead silent. Everyone stopped and stared, disbelief written all over their faces.
This little intern—had he lost his mind?
Talk about guts!
"Can't you smell it?" George was freaking out inside but doubled down, sniffing the air dramatically. "I smell alcohol."
"How dare you ask me that?!" Taylor exploded.
These surgeries were fully recorded. If he admitted it on tape, it'd be a disaster.
"George, you're out of line," Shepherd warned.
"There are hospital rules," George said, fully committed now. "Rules exist for a reason. There's a two-year-old girl on that table—we can't just exploit someone's vulnerability like this…"
"No snot-nosed intern gets to lecture me about risk!" Taylor sneered. "Get him out of here, Shepherd!"
Shepherd locked eyes with Taylor, steady and unreadable.
"Shepherd?" Taylor prompted again.
"George, go," Shepherd said, making the obvious call.
George walked out of the OR in a daze.
"Taylor, you'd better be on your game," Shepherd muttered under his breath.
"Wouldn't be standing here otherwise," Taylor replied coolly.
As the top anesthesiologist in the center, he and Shepherd were equals—Taylor didn't have to kiss anyone's ring.
Shepherd gave him a long look, then turned to a nurse. "Page Dr. Duncan. Tell him to get down here now."
This was a teaching hospital.
With George booted, a spot had opened up for another intern.
First pick would've been Meredith, naturally.
But with this mess unfolding before the surgery even started, Shepherd wasn't sure how Meredith would react to Taylor's boozy breath.
Plus, things were already off to a rocky start.
Better safe than sorry—he went straight for the steadiest, sharpest option: Adam.