Adam: "Got any pointers?"
At the medical center, in the observation room.
Adam strolled in and plopped down next to Meredith and George.
"Has it started yet?"
Adam asked casually.
"Any second now," Meredith replied, glancing at him. "Wait, you actually lost to Liz?" 😮
"Isn't that pretty normal?"
Adam chuckled, eyeing the two groups downstairs who weren't exactly chatty. "Nobody wins forever. Honestly, if you'd been there, we wouldn't have stood a chance."
"…What's that supposed to mean?"
Meredith raised an eyebrow, feeling a little called out.
"Just complimenting you," Adam said, dead serious. "It's all about chemistry, right? You've always had Sloan's back. If he'd picked you, none of us would've blinked. Didn't you notice George didn't even wanna join in?"
"I don't like him!" George huffed, puffing out his cheeks.
Adam just shrugged.
Meredith got the hint and dropped it, turning her gaze away. She knew why George wasn't a fan of Mark Sloan. But she couldn't give George what he wanted—especially not after seeing her estranged dad again after over a decade. That door was slammed shut for good. George, with his looks and vibe so much like her dad, was perfect as a friend or a confidant, but a boyfriend? Way too weird. 😬
Down in the operating room, the surgery kicked off.
First up: removing a malignant brain tumor.
Dr. Shepherd cracked open the patient's skull.
"Plate!"
"Damn it, hand me a sponge—grab another unit of blood!"
"There's so much blood."
"Hook it up to the transfusion regulator."
"No pulse in the cranial artery."
"Ventricular fibrillation!"
"Try the CPR machine!"
"He's bleeding out—use the defibrillator!"
Dr. Shepherd had barely opened the skull when he realized the brain was in worse shape than the MRI had shown. Chaos erupted. Mark Sloan took over the defibrillator, following Shepherd's orders to shock the patient and get the heart going again. But the condition was too critical—nothing worked.
The少年 with lion syndrome didn't even make it to the plastic surgery he'd dreamed of.
"Time of death: 10:23," Dr. Shepherd announced flatly, checking the clock before walking out. Mark Sloan followed suit.
Up in the observation room, the surgical director shook his head, disappointed, and left. No press conference for him today. The rest of the staff trickled out, leaving Cristina and Liz to handle the aftermath.
Adam, though, headed downstairs and pushed open the OR doors.
"Cristina, Liz, wanna do a plastic surgery with me?" 😏
"You mean…"
Both of them turned to the deceased少年 on the table.
"Yep," Adam nodded. "Come with me to talk to his parents. Let's get their okay and do this together?"
"Why not ask Dr. Sloan?" Liz hesitated. "He's the best fit for this, right…?"
She trailed off as Cristina shot her a look.
"Leave the small stuff an undertaker could handle to us—don't bother the top plastic surgeon with it," Adam said coolly. "The three of us can't manage? Relax, if you're worried after we're done, you can call Sloan over to check it out and give us some 'pointers.'"
"Fine," Liz said with a wry smile.
Yup, Cristina was spot on. Adam's petty as hell. 😅
One little slight, and he's already plotting his comeback. Pointers? Please. This was a flex—a big "Hey, Sloan, East Coast's top plastic surgeon? Lion syndrome surgery's no big deal!" move.
Realizing Adam's grudge game was strong, Liz gave up overthinking it. Whatever. They'd do it. Worst case, they'd call someone to fix it later. Plus, she was dying to know—was Cristina right? Did Sloan pick her over Adam because he was threatened by his talent?
Hmm. She'd drag Sloan over after and watch his face closely. That'd spill the tea.
The trio went to the grieving parents, who'd already gotten the news. Adam explained the plan. Thanks to a sketch he'd drawn earlier, the parents felt their son had passed with hope in his heart. Grateful, they didn't hesitate to sign off. They wanted Jack's funeral to show the world what he could've looked like.
"Alright, let's do this!"
Back in the OR, Adam, Cristina, and Liz grabbed the tools, wheeled Jack's body to the morgue—hospitals don't let dead patients hog operating rooms, after all. So, the plastic surgery would happen there. No biggie. No life support needed, just the right gear. Undertakers do it all the time.
"Adam, you're seriously doing this yourself?" Liz couldn't help but ask again.
"What do you think?"
Adam slipped on gloves and gave her a look. "After all this effort, you think we're messing around?"
"But you've never done it before," Liz fretted. "Jumping straight into the toughest plastic surgery? That's wild!"
"Let's find out," Adam grinned. "It's not as hard as you think. I've got this."
"Chill, we're here now—stop overthinking," Cristina teased. "You know Adam. He doesn't wing it without a plan. Remember when he blocked that critical patient from admission on a hunch, and it turned out he was right? Could you even imagine pulling that off?"
"You're really sure?" Liz stared at Adam, still unsure.
"Not 100%, but like 95%," he said with a laugh. "I trust my hands and my head. Worst case, Sloan bails us out and I eat some humble pie. No sweat. We good? Any more questions?"
Liz shook her head.
"Scalpel!"
Adam held out his hand.
Liz passed it over.
And just like that, the three of them got to work in the morgue—Adam leading, Cristina assisting, Liz playing nurse.
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