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Medical Center – Operating Room
"His body temp's too low, and his organs are swollen. We need to move him to the ICU, correct the acidosis, and stabilize him before we can operate," Adam said, pausing mid-surgery and addressing the team. "For now, let's handle the cuts and scratches."
"Leave it to me, Dr. Duncan!" Carter piped up eagerly.
Stitching? He's got this.
"Dr. Duncan, I'd love to practice my suturing too," Lexie chimed in, not missing a beat.
"Alright, both of you then," Adam said with a grin. "The grizzly used him like a chew toy—657 stitches needed for these wounds. Not an even number, so it's a perfect chance to see whose basics are sharper. Game on!"
"Yes, sir!" Carter and Lexie locked eyes, sparks flying.
"Any questions, Grey?" Adam asked, noticing Lexie's raised hand.
"Dr. Duncan, can you really just look at it and know how many stitches it'll take?" Lexie asked, wide-eyed.
"The wounds are right there—little mental math, and boom," Adam said with a modest smile. "I'm basing the 657 on your stitching styles, though. You can count 'em later and see if I nailed it."
"Dr. Duncan's definitely right," the head nurse cut in, giggling. "Everyone knows his math's insane. So don't you two skimp to win—it's 657 minimum, not one stitch less!"
"Absolutely," Carter and Lexie nodded fast, promising no shortcuts.
Surgery paused. Adam stabilized Mr. Robinson, sent him to the ICU, and put Carter and Lexie on double duty: stitching up scrapes while keeping watch.
Meanwhile, he went to check on Mr. Robinson's younger brother—the reckless guy with more guts than sense, who'd tried to pet a bear in front of his big bro and new wife, consequences be damned.
"How's he doing?" Adam asked.
"MRI's done. Dr. Shepherd confirmed it," Shorty reported, stepping out to meet him. "Malignant glioma, spread too far. Surgery's not an option."
Adam glanced at the MRI scans and nodded. With that level of spread, neurosurgery was out of the picture. Done Deal.
"Maybe we could turn it into a clinical study," Adam mused, an idea sparking. He grabbed the scans and headed to Dr. Shepherd.
"If we can't remove the tumor, how about shrinking it?" Shepherd asked, blinking at Adam's pitch. "How?"
"It's a cutting-edge concept—untested on humans," Adam explained. "Inject an active virus into the tumor to reduce its size until it's operable. Little Mr. Robinson's a death sentence otherwise. This experiment? It's a slim shot at survival."
"You want to file this as a full-on clinical research project?" Shepherd said, catching on.
Top-tier docs don't just ride the coattails of past wins—they innovate, tackle the unsolvable, and turn their breakthroughs into the gold standard for the next generation. Take Ellis Grey: her textbooks are surgical gospel. Every time someone uses her techniques, her name gets a shoutout.
That's a legend! 🌟
"Exactly," Adam said, grinning. "I think we could make medical history here."
No kidding. In his past life, Adam had heard of a mind-blowing medical miracle like this. Now, as a doctor, he knew it was theoretically doable. Back then, it was a fluke. This time? He'd make it happen on purpose.
"It'd be tough to control," Shepherd warned. "Viruses mutate randomly."
"That's why it's a long-term project," Adam nodded. "Early on, I'd focus on hopeless cases like Little Robinson—just aiming to shrink tumors. Later, we refine the virus through research, breeding one that eats cancer cells without touching the healthy ones."
"Theory checks out. Pull this off, and the Nobel Prize in Medicine has your name on it," Shepherd said, floored by the first-year resident's gutsy ambition. "You need my help with this?"
"Could you?" Adam grinned. "You know I don't have the clout to lead a project this big yet."
"Of course," Shepherd laughed. "Put me down as an assistant. Need me to handle cases or sign off? Just say the word. It's your show—I've got your back."
"Thanks!" Adam said, genuinely grateful.
"No need," Shepherd replied, dead serious. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even be here. I owe you."
Last time, during the Soldier Warlord OR fiasco, Shepherd had been a Schrödinger's cat—eyes shut, no clue if the guy would shoot. Watching the footage later, seeing that feral grin and the finger inching toward the trigger in slow-mo? Then Adam swooping in to save him? That hit hard.
It wasn't some hypothetical rescue anymore—it was real. Adam had saved his life, no question.
So what if a top neurosurgeon played wingman on Adam's research? He believed in Adam's chops. This project might be a grind, maybe years in the making, but it could work. And if it did? A world-shaking medical miracle, the first real shot at beating cancer.
As a contributor, Shepherd's name would go down in history too.
"Let's go," Shepherd said, smiling. "Time to break the good news to Little Robinson. I bet he'll make the right call."
"Sweet," Adam said, pumped.
The Nobel Prize wasn't some overhyped myth. Sure, if you cheated or stacked buffs to snag it, that was lame. But earning it legit? That was the ultimate pat on the back for a scientist.
Adam's reason was simple: he wanted to flex a little in front of Peggy and Sheldon—and fit in. Peggy was a shoo-in for a Fields Medal. Sheldon? Future Nobel Physics champ. No Nobel in Medicine for Adam? Unacceptable.
That said, if he had his druthers, he'd chase a Fields Medal instead—math's holy grail. Only awarded every four years, it's rarer and weightier than the annual Nobel, which sometimes hands out triple wins like candy.
Him and Peggy, each with a Fields Medal? That'd be a science-world power couple for the ages. 😎
(End of Chapter)