Medical Center
"So, Dr. Duncan, we're all set then?"
Dr. Montgomery cracked a little joke, her mood lifting as she flashed a smile.
"Yep, sounds good."
Adam, who'd been labeled a "pretty face" more than once, swallowed his urge to snap back and nodded with a grin. "The chief said everyone's under Dr. Shephard's command right now, so naturally, we're all your people."
Dr. Montgomery's smile froze for a second. She shot Adam a deep, probing look before nodding and walking off.
How could she not catch the subtle jab in his words?
But Adam wasn't wrong either.
It was the surgical chief's call, and with such a rare case on the table, she did have the power to pull everyone together—for now. That kind of authority wouldn't stick around forever, though.
In fact, just earlier, when she'd been hashing things out with her husband (the neurosurgery chief) and Dr. Burke (the cardiothoracic surgery chief), she'd already taken some heat.
One of them had quipped, "Oh, no problem at all—since I don't have to run a neurosurgery department."
The other chimed in, "Yeah, obviously our departments are at your beck and call."
The unspoken punchline? "You telling me how to do my job?"
Even Shephard and her husband—equals in status but with a marriage on the rocks—weren't immune to this vibe. Same went for Dr. Burke and Cristina, who, despite their wildly unequal positions, were still in that "honeymoon phase."
Not long ago, they'd finally stepped out of the hospital for a legit date. But according to Cristina later, it was awkward as hell.
Picture this: the two of them sitting there in silence, glancing left and right, accidentally locking eyes for a split second before looking away—like some bad blind date from Adam's past life where neither side was impressed but still had to suffer through the meal.
When it came time to order, Burke tried to pick lobster for Cristina, saying it paired better with the red wine.
Cristina flat-out shot it down and ordered herself a steak.
"You eat red meat?" Burke had asked, stunned.
"You don't?" she fired back, fully aware he didn't touch the stuff but not budging an inch.
If it weren't for a guy at the next table suddenly keeling over, triggering their doctor instincts and letting Burke see the Cristina he fell for again, that relationship might've crashed and burned right then and there.
Point is, a top-tier surgeon like Cristina—or any of them—hates being told what to do when they don't need the lesson.
And Adam's little comment? It hit Dr. Montgomery right in the gut.
What she needed was someone she could boss around.
Sigh.
The incompetent ones? She wouldn't waste her time. The talented ones? Too much attitude.
Adam was clearly a lost cause.
Guess she'd have to pin her hopes on Liz—someone with a spark of talent and a bit of sass.
---
VIP Ward
This case could put the medical center's neonatal unit on the map, so the hospital was rolling out the red carpet for Mrs. Rusabin.
"You're here?" Liz asked, spotting Adam and tilting her head curiously.
"Yeah, Dr. Shephard told me to join in," Adam explained casually.
"Oh, cool."
Liz didn't think much of it, probably assuming he was just backup. She turned to Mrs. Rusabin, who was lying there, and grinned. "This is Dr. Duncan, our center's star intern. Clearly, Dr. Shephard's pulling out all the stops to make sure everything goes smoothly for you."
"Hi, Mrs. Rusabin."
"Hello, Dr. Duncan."
Mrs. Rusabin beamed at Adam. "Dr. Shephard really knows how to make me feel special. Looks like I picked the right place."
Adam started checking her vitals, but his brow furrowed. He grabbed the ultrasound machine and got to work.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Rusabin asked, her voice tight with nerves as she watched him like a hawk.
"You see something?" Liz added, wide-eyed.
"Call Dr. Shephard," Adam said, eyes glued to the ultrasound screen. "Both of them. We need a consult. Oh, and get Dr. Burke too."
"Okay."
Liz wanted to press him, but one glance from Adam, and she nodded, trusting him enough to run off and fetch the others.
"Is something wrong with the babies?" Mrs. Rusabin's voice trembled.
"Uh, yeah," Adam admitted, rubbing his neck.
Keeping a pregnant woman calm is crucial—especially with quintuplets—but he couldn't lie when he'd spotted a real problem.
"It's okay, though," he added quickly. "We should be able to handle it. Try not to worry too much."
"What is it?" she demanded, her fear spiking. No more admiring Adam's good looks—she was past that now.
"It's the third one, in the middle," Adam said carefully, choosing his words.
"Lucy!" Mrs. Rusabin gasped, already naming the unborn child.
"Yeah, Lucy," Adam confirmed, keeping his tone steady. "She's showing signs of hydrocephalus—basically, fluid buildup in the brain. Too much fluid can put pressure on her brain and might cause damage. But we caught it early, so we can treat it fast. As long as there are no complications, she'll recover fully."
He spoke slowly, buying time for the others to arrive.
"No brain damage?" she pressed.
"No brain damage," Adam assured her with a nod.
"How do you treat it?"
"That's for Dr. Shephard to map out once they get here," he said, sticking to protocol.
"Oh."
Mrs. Rusabin had seen enough doctors to know the drill. She nodded, but then another worry hit her. "What about Dr. Burke? Why him?"
"Dr. Burke's our cardiothoracic chief," Adam said, bracing himself.
Thankfully, the Shephards burst in right then.
"What's going on?" they asked in unison.
"Take a look," Adam said, relieved to pass the baton. He pointed at the ultrasound. "The third fetus has hydrocephalus symptoms. The second one on the left has an underdeveloped left ventricle. And the second on the right has organs protruding outside the body."
"Ha… haha…" Mrs. Rusabin let out a shaky laugh. "Three out of my five babies have issues. Haha!"
Her laughter turned wild, teetering on the edge of hysteria.
"Calm down," Adam urged, while the Shephards studied the fuzzy images. "These are all things we can fix with surgery."
It took a while—and a few nudges from Adam—before the Shephards zeroed in on the subtle signs he'd caught.
Truth is, in a day or two, a thorough scan would've flagged these issues anyway. But Adam spotting them now? It left them stunned—and a little impressed.
They agreed with his assessment and jumped in to calm the near-frantic Mrs. Rusabin.
It took forever, but she finally settled down, tears in her eyes as she accepted that three of her daughters had problems—but problems with solutions.
Adam, though, sighed inwardly.
He could see it in her eyes: endless regret.
He knew plenty of doctors—like Liz—had warned her to let go of two fetuses to give the others a better shot. Even her husband had agreed.
But she'd insisted on keeping all five.
Now? She had no one to blame but herself.
For a mother, that kind of guilt was pure torture.