It's a private clinic.
Specializing in gynecology.
At this hour, if you want a check-up without an appointment, aside from your own medical center, a private clinic's your only bet.
Of course, you've got to shell out some extra cash.
Otherwise, if you rely on insurance-approved hospitals and their surgery schedules, you'd hit a snag—Christina might end up giving birth before her appointment even rolls around, thanks to some unforeseen delay.
Though if she could line up a second or third kid right after, maybe that'd work out…
Adam drove, with George and Meredith sandwiching a reluctant Christina in the backseat, pulling up to this well-known private clinic.
"I've already booked it—surgery's the day after tomorrow," Christina grumbled. "This place doesn't take my insurance."
"Tonight's game made you the big winner," Adam said with a grin. "I'm the loser, so think of this as my bet payout. It's just a check-up—won't cost much.
If it's not ectopic, you can totally wait till Wednesday.
But if it is ectopic, I'd say it's worth every penny.
Plus, we're all doctors—chances are we'll open our own clinics someday. Let's call it a sneak peek, a little field trip. Sound good?"
"Yep!"
"Christina, come on, it'll be like a group learning experience!"
George and Meredith chimed in eagerly.
"I'm unlucky, but not that unlucky!" Christina muttered, half-mocking herself.
Still, with Adam laying it out like that, she didn't argue further. Sure, insurance wouldn't cover it, but it's not like she couldn't afford it out of pocket.
Stepdaughter's a daughter too, right?
Rich man's daughter—get to know her.
Half an hour later:
"How could this happen…"
Christina stared at the ultrasound image, her face paling.
She didn't need a doctor to explain—she was a doctor.
"It's really ectopic…" Meredith said, eyeing her with concern.
"It's a big win wrapped in a big loss," Adam said reassuringly. "Catching it early and getting surgery beats a ruptured tube, losing it—or worse, bleeding out with no time to save you, right?"
"Now that you put it that way, yeah," Meredith replied, her eyes—sobered up by the scare—starting to glaze over again.
"Shit!" Adam cursed under his breath. "No way. Is her '100% drunk pants-drop' move some kind of unstoppable superpower? I threw her off, and she's still gearing up for it?"
He couldn't help but overthink it—Meredith's hazy stare was locked right on him.
"Let's do the surgery now," Adam said, ignoring her look and turning to Christina. "The sooner it's done, the sooner you recover. Interns don't have time to waste."
"Yeah," Christina agreed without hesitation this time.
As a doctor, she knew full well how dangerous an ectopic pregnancy could be. With her work schedule, she probably wouldn't last till Wednesday.
"Dr. Williams, set up the surgery," Adam said to the gynecologist waiting for their call.
"Got it," Dr. Williams replied with a smile, heading off to prep.
"Christina, should we let Dr. Burke know?" Adam asked, knowing the answer.
"No need," she said firmly, as expected.
Adam nodded. "Meredith, go with Christina into the OR."
"Sure," Meredith said, her gaze drifting back to Adam, even hazier now.
"…"
George's already pale face went whiter.
A private clinic with a little extra cash thrown in? Lightning-fast service.
Christina, with Meredith by her side, was in the operating room in no time.
Waiting area:
Adam lounged there, flipping through TV channels with the remote.
"What's up?"
"Nothing."
George's eyes darted around nervously.
Adam knew what was on his mind, but since he wasn't spilling, Adam was happy to play dumb.
Still, he figured George wouldn't hold it in for long.
Sure enough, a minute later:
"Adam, don't you think Dr. Shepard's gone too far?" George blurted out. "He's married and still pretended to be single to fool Meredith!"
"Mm-hmm," Adam hummed, flipping channels. "What's your plan?"
He agreed Dr. Shepard was kind of a jerk.
Meredith and Shepard had hooked up the night before her first day as an intern, and now, over two months into the gig, he'd been crashing at her place publicly for more than a week. All that time, and he never mentioned something as huge as being married? No excuse for that.
Adam also remembered a few days back—Meredith had said their thing was more heart than love, and she barely knew the guy. She'd chased him down from home to the hospital, grilling him during work hours to learn more about him.
And what'd he do? Took her to his "home"—a trailer—spouting off some generic checklist: a few sisters, a couple nephews, favorite foods, drinks, hobbies, books, bands, colors.
It sounded sincere enough to make Meredith swoon—she nearly tore the trailer apart that night.
But the one critical detail—married—he conveniently left out.
Barney's famous words: "Touching bubbles and breakup bubbles are the ultimate experiences you can't miss."
Adam could only nod and say, "Expert."
"I'm going after Meredith," George said, clenching his jaw.
But Adam didn't react like he'd hoped—just kept staring at the TV.
"Adam!" George huffed, annoyed.
"Shh!" Adam hushed him, pointing at the screen.
George blinked, following Adam's gaze, and saw the TV airing a news segment—with two familiar faces.
"Ban the strippers!"
"Women deserve better!"
On-screen, a crowd was protesting outside a strip club, blocking the entrance. A reporter was mid-interview.
"Excuse me, are you two heading into the strip club?"
A stunning female reporter hurried after bald Chris and chubby white Stu, who'd just walked up and were already turning to leave.
"Of course not—we're here for the protest," bald Chris said, quick on his feet.
"We're worried about the kids," chubby Stu added, nodding solemnly.
"Then what's that in your pocket?" the gorgeous reporter pressed, signaling the camera to zoom in on a fat wad of bills sticking out of Stu's jacket.
"Uh, uh, that's 38 bucks in change. I bought a paper for 40, and this is what I got back," Stu stammered, flustered.
"Pfft!"
Adam and George cracked up.
Buddy, there's no such thing as a 40-dollar bill.
And even if there were, who's handing you 38 singles as change?
The sharp reporter clearly saw through it too, ready to turn it into a big scoop, when—*thud!*—she spun around to see her cameraman collapse.
"Neil!"
"OMG!"
"Sir?"
The crowd gasped in shock.
Bald Chris and chubby Stu sprang into action.
"No pulse."
"Starting CPR."
"Call an ambulance."
The reporter, no slouch herself, hoisted the fallen camera, aimed it at the rescue, and started narrating.
"You're watching live as two young doctors fight to save my cameraman… This is New York Metro News One, Robin Scherbatsky."
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