Observation Room
The moment Dr. Shepherd spoke, Adam overheard him.
Though he couldn't help but admire George's fiery sense of justice, Adam didn't hesitate. He jumped up and bolted toward the operating room.
Borrowing a line from Sheldon: Who told him to be so weak?
Scrub in, disinfect, gown up.
It was all so smooth, like clockwork.
By the time Adam stepped into the OR, Dr. Shepherd was momentarily stunned.
No surprise there—it was fast.
But Dr. Shepherd didn't comment. Having his orders carried out with such efficiency was a good thing, and it softened some of the irritation he'd felt earlier over George and Dr. Taylor.
"Alright, let's get started."
Dr. Shepherd gave Adam a nod, officially kicking off the surgery as the lead surgeon.
The drill whirred to life.
Second-Floor Observation Room
George, who'd been kicked out, stood in the corner with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. His face was blank as he stared down at the OR.
Did he regret it?
Of course he did!
Especially after leaving the OR and walking alone to the observation room. Once the adrenaline faded, regret hit him like a ton of bricks—he practically felt sick about it.
What had he done?
For the sake of a risk that might not even happen, he'd pissed off the hospital's top anesthesiologist!
And it wasn't just Dr. Taylor.
Most doctors had their quirks—did he really think they'd take kindly to an intern who dared to call them out in front of everyone?
The answer was obvious.
George felt like his future was crumbling.
It was a dark, unethical thought, but right then, a single idea kept creeping into his mind:
If only the surgery went wrong because of Dr. Taylor's screw-up…
But then the little girl's adorable smile flashed in his head, and George shoved the thought away, ashamed of how twisted it was.
Adam, meanwhile, didn't have time to care about George's inner turmoil.
He was focused on two things:
One, assisting Dr. Shepherd—handing him tools, watching him operate, and soaking up every explanation he offered.
The other, keeping an eye on the monitors and Dr. Taylor, the anesthesiologist.
That's right.
George might've been a little hot-headed and not exactly smooth about it, but his concern wasn't baseless.
Even the best anesthesiologists could slip up—especially one who'd been drinking.
Since Adam was in the OR, he'd use every advantage he had to minimize risks and, once again, prove what he was capable of.
Think about it: if Adam hadn't already shown how good he was, why would Dr. Burke have picked him for his friend's case?
How would this surgery have landed in his lap?
Americans didn't mess around with moderation—winner takes all, that's the game.
Two Hours Later
"In a frontal lobectomy, we'll encounter the anterior cerebral artery…"
Dr. Shepherd was operating and teaching at the same time when he suddenly noticed something off. "Dr. Duncan, what are you doing?" he asked, surprised.
"There was an abnormal spike in the blood pressure and heart rate on the monitor just now," Adam explained.
He placed his hand on the patient's radial artery, feeling the pulse directly while continuing, "Blood pressure's up, heart rate's climbing—Dr. Shepherd, the anesthesia's getting light."
Sometimes, you couldn't rely too much on the monitors.
They were just tools sampling the body's data, and sampling meant errors could happen.
A doctor's hands-on observation? That was more accurate, more dependable.
"You know anesthesia too?"
Dr. Shepherd almost laughed in disbelief. "That's Dr. Taylor's job. Yours is to assist me and learn."
"Dr. Taylor seems to be asleep," Adam pointed out. "We should wake him up and check the patient's anesthesia."
"No way…"
Dr. Shepherd started to scoff, then froze. It hit him—there was a chance.
Dr. Taylor, sitting with his back to them, hadn't reacted at all to their conversation.
"Dr. Taylor!"
"Dr. Taylor!!"
"DR. TAYLOR!!!"
Three calls, each louder, each angrier.
"Ah! Sorry, sorry, I'm here!"
Dr. Taylor jolted awake, fumbling to cover it up. "Just dozed off for a sec."
"Dr. Duncan says the anesthesia's light. Check it, now," Dr. Shepherd said, barely holding back his frustration, his face a mask.
"No way!"
Dr. Taylor snapped back instinctively.
As the medical center's top anesthesiologist, he was fiercely confident in his expertise.
"What does an intern know about anesthesia?!"
Then it sank in—who was questioning him? Another damn intern. That sent his temper through the roof.
Were interns this ballsy now?
One after another, publicly undermining him?
"I actually do know a bit," Adam said earnestly. "At the very least, I know anesthesia's a field where we still don't fully understand how the drugs work. It's all about experience—watching the patient's reactions and adjusting on the fly.
"Dr. Taylor, I suggest you check the patient's status right now. If she wakes up, it'll be a disaster."
Imagine it: a two-year-old girl, skull drilled open, half her brain being removed, waking up from general anesthesia too soon. The thought alone was horrifying.
"Knowing a little and trying to tell me what to do…"
Dr. Taylor's temper flared, fueled by the alcohol still in his system.
Normally, he'd have checked without hesitation.
But now? He glanced at the monitor and doubled down, convinced his work was flawless.
Adam didn't argue further. He just looked at Dr. Shepherd.
"Dr. Taylor!"
This time, Dr. Shepherd didn't hold back. "Check it now!" he barked.
Seeing the lead surgeon lose it—and worried the surgery might actually go south—Dr. Taylor finally got serious and checked.
And there it was: the anesthesia was light.
As he grabbed the syringe to adjust it, he saw the little girl's eyelids twitch. Panicked, he injected the anesthetic fast.
"My bad, Shepherd. Won't happen again, I swear," Dr. Taylor said, trying to brush it off. "Steve, get me some coffee."
"It won't happen again—not here," Dr. Shepherd replied, stone-faced. "Steve, call Dr. Pellington. Hopkins, you take over until she gets here."
Dr. Pellington was another anesthesiologist at the hospital.
"Yes, Doctor," the two nurses responded instantly.
In the OR, the lead surgeon's word was law.
"George was right," Dr. Shepherd said, glancing at a stunned Dr. Taylor. "Go sober up."
Dr. Taylor stormed out, his face dark with fury.
Getting kicked out of the OR? For a doctor, it was pure humiliation—especially for someone like him, the medical center's so-called anesthesia king.
Second-Floor Observation Room
George watched it all unfold, his expression a mess of emotions.
Adam had not only stopped a potential disaster but stayed in the OR, getting to assist and learn on this high-level neurosurgery case.
It was the perfect outcome George had secretly hoped for.
So why did it have to be Adam pulling it off instead of him?
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