Chapter Text
The ER was a whirlwind of motion and noise, but Lucas Adams stood apart from the chaos, leaning against the nurses' station. His eyes were unfocused, locked on Jo Wilson being wheeled toward the labor and delivery unit. An uneasy smile tugged at his lips, but his pallor told a different story.
Ben Warren, hurrying by with a chart in hand, stopped in his tracks when he spotted Lucas. Something wasn’t right.
“Hey, Lucas,” Ben called out, concern creeping into his voice. “You good?”
Lucas blinked, his eyes sluggishly finding Ben’s. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, but the words sounded more like a question than an answer.
Ben frowned, stepping closer. “You don’t look fine. You’re pale as hell, kid.”
Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but the movement made him grimace. His hand fluttered toward his side, as if the motion could shield him from the sudden wave of discomfort. That’s when Ben saw it—the dark red stain blooming across the side of Lucas’ scrubs, dripping down toward his waistband.
“Lucas…” Ben’s voice was sharp now. “You’re bleeding. Sit down, now.”
Lucas swayed on his feet, a faint sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “It’s nothing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ben didn’t wait for more protest. He stepped in, pulling up Lucas’ scrub shirt to reveal a jagged, angry wound on his right side, oozing blood. Ben’s heart dropped.
“Damn it, Lucas!” Ben snapped, his hands already applying pressure to the wound. “You’ve been shot! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
Lucas blinked at him, dazed. “Didn’t… didn’t notice,” he murmured, his knees buckling.
Ben caught him just in time, lowering him to the ground as a nurse rushed over. “I need a gurney and trauma support, now!” Ben bellowed, his voice cutting through the ER noise.
Owen Hunt, who had been triaging patients nearby, bolted over at the commotion. His eyes landed on Lucas and the blood seeping through Ben’s fingers. “What happened?”
“He’s got a gunshot wound, right side, likely missed the abdomen but bleeding bad,” Ben reported tersely.
“Get him on a gurney!” Owen barked, and with the help of a nurse, they hefted Lucas up.
As soon as Lucas was horizontal, his condition spiraled. The heart monitor began a frantic beeping, and a nurse shouted, “Blood pressure’s crashing! 80 over 50 and falling!”
“Damn it,” Owen growled, pressing his hands hard over the wound. “He’s in hypovolemic shock. We need fluids wide open and a central line. Start a second IV!”
Ben was already ahead of him, threading an IV into Lucas’ arm as another nurse hooked up a bag of saline. Lucas’ head lolled to the side, his breathing shallow and labored. His lips had taken on a faint blue hue.
“Lucas, hey!” Ben leaned in close, his tone urgent but soft. “Come on, kid. Stay with me. Don’t check out now.”
Owen’s voice cut through the moment. “Call the OR and tell them we’re coming up. Prep for an exploratory laparotomy. He’s hemorrhaging, and we need to get control.”
Lucas’ eyelids fluttered, his lips moving soundlessly. Ben leaned closer, catching a faint whisper: “Jo… okay?”
Ben swallowed hard, his heart twisting. “Jo’s fine. You focus on yourself right now, okay?”
The gurney jerked forward as the trauma team sprinted toward the elevator. Owen was at Lucas’ side, his hands still compressing the wound. “We’ve got this, Lucas,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the urgency. “Just hang on a little longer.”
As the elevator doors closed, the ER was left buzzing with the aftermath. Nurses exchanged worried glances, but no one voiced the thought hanging in the air: Lucas Adams was fighting an uphill battle, and time was not on his side.
The OR was already prepped when Lucas was rushed in, a flurry of activity surrounding him as the trauma team scrambled to stabilize his rapidly deteriorating condition.
Dr. Owen Hunt and Dr. Teddy Altman were at the helm, their movements sharp and efficient. Owen stood at Lucas’ side, still applying pressure to the wound, while Teddy reviewed the imaging scans displayed on the monitor.
“The bullet entered his left flank and likely struck the spleen,” Teddy said, her tone clipped but calm. “We need to control the bleeding before we lose him.”
Owen nodded, his jaw tight. “He’s already in hypovolemic shock. Let’s move fast. Suction ready?”
“Yes, Dr. Hunt,” a scrub nurse replied, handing over the tool.See AlsoUnderstanding the Anatomy and Function of Your Lips | Smile WidelyThe Mouth: Anatomy and 3D IllustrationsLip - Structure, Diagram, Anatomy, Function, SignificanceWhat Do Healthy Lips Look Like? | Kissable Insights
“Alright,” Owen said, stepping back slightly as Teddy took her place. “Let’s open him up.”
The scalpel glided across Lucas’ pale skin, revealing a cavity filled with blood. Teddy’s expression hardened. “It’s a mess in here,” she said, carefully suctioning the area.
“Clamp,” Owen ordered, reaching for an instrument to control a spurting vessel.
The heart monitor suddenly emitted a sharp, rapid alarm. “BP is 60 over 30 and dropping!” a nurse called out.
“Push another unit of blood and keep fluids running wide open,” Teddy commanded, not looking up from her work.
“Retract here,” Owen said, maneuvering around to expose the damaged spleen. As soon as the organ came into view, he let out a low curse. “It’s shredded. We have no choice but to remove it.”
“I’m on it,” Teddy said, taking the lead. She worked methodically, her hands steady as she began isolating the splenic artery. “Ligating the vessels now.”
Just as Teddy was about to clamp the artery, the heart monitor flatlined.
“He’s coding!” a nurse shouted.
Owen’s head snapped up. “Start compressions! Let’s get him back!”
A resident stepped in to perform chest compressions as Teddy quickly removed her hands from the surgical field. Owen grabbed the defibrillator paddles.
“Charge to 200,” he ordered.
“Charged,” a nurse confirmed.
“Clear!” Owen shouted, pressing the paddles to Lucas’ chest. His body jerked slightly, but the monitor remained flat.
“Resume compressions,” Teddy said, her voice calm but urgent.
“Epinephrine, one milligram, IV push,” Owen added, glancing at the clock.
The team worked in tense silence, the only sounds the rhythmic compressions and the beep of the defibrillator recharging.
“Charge to 300,” Owen said after another cycle.
“Charged.”
“Clear!”
This time, the monitor flickered, then steadied into a weak but regular rhythm.
“We’ve got a pulse,” Teddy announced, exhaling sharply. “Let’s move. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
Owen stepped back to let Teddy resume. She quickly clamped the splenic artery and removed the mangled organ, placing it in a basin.
“Spleen is out,” Teddy said. “Suction here—let’s check for additional damage.”
Owen scanned the surrounding tissue. “No perforation to the stomach or intestines,” he noted. “It looks like the spleen took the brunt of it.”
“Let’s close him up,” Teddy said, her tone resolute.
They worked in tandem, suturing with precision as the nurses monitored Lucas’ vitals. His blood pressure began to stabilize, though it remained precariously low.
As they finished, Owen looked up at Teddy. “He’s lucky he made it this far,” he said quietly.
Teddy nodded, her expression softening. “He’s strong, but he’s got a long recovery ahead.”See AlsoDetecção de lábio leporino em exames de ultrassom 3D
Owen glanced at Lucas’ pale face, still slack and lifeless under the anesthesia. “He’s gotta be okay,” he murmured. “Let’s make sure he gets through this.”
The OR fell quiet except for the hum of machines as the team completed their work. Lucas had survived the first battle, but everyone in the room knew it wouldn’t be the last.
Amelia Shepherd was deep into a complex spinal tumor resection, her focus razor-sharp as she guided her resident through the delicate procedure. The OR was quiet except for the soft hum of monitors and the occasional instruction from Amelia.
“Retract here. Gently,” she said, her gloved hands steady as she worked to expose the tumor.
Just then, her pager buzzed on the counter. She ignored it at first—her attention glued to the patient on the table—but when it buzzed again, and then a third time, the scrub nurse picked it up.
“Dr. Shepherd, it’s a 911 page,” the nurse said, her voice tinged with urgency.
Amelia frowned, glancing up. “From who?”
“The OR,” the nurse replied, holding the pager closer. “It’s Dr. Adams. He coded.”
Amelia froze, her heart slamming into her ribs. “What?” she breathed, her voice barely audible.
The nurse hesitated before repeating, “Adams is in the OR. They said he coded.”
Amelia’s hands trembled for a split second, and she quickly pulled them back, stepping away from the table. She couldn’t process what she had just heard. Lucas was in the OR? He coded? Why?
Her mind raced, a whirlwind of panic and confusion. She hadn’t seen him since the morning when he’d been rushing off to his shift. He’d been tired, sure, but nothing had seemed wrong. What could have happened?
“Dr. Shepherd,” her resident’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Should we proceed?”
Amelia blinked, grounding herself. The tumor. The patient. She couldn’t just abandon the surgery, no matter how desperately she wanted to run to Lucas’ side.
“Yes,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “We finish the surgery. Let’s move quickly but carefully.”
Her fingers resumed their work, but her mind wasn’t fully present. Each movement felt automatic, her training taking over while her thoughts remained firmly on Lucas.
He coded. What could have happened? Was it an accident in the ER? An illness he hadn’t told her about? The possibilities clawed at her, and she fought to keep her breathing steady.
“Dr. Shepherd,” the resident said again, concern lacing their voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, then immediately softened her tone. “Let’s just finish this.”
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Amelia’s chest tightened with each passing second, her mind conjuring worst-case scenarios. She had seen too many young, promising lives snuffed out by freak accidents or hidden conditions. The thought of Lucas—her nephew, her family—being one of them was unbearable.
Finally, the tumor was removed, and Amelia meticulously closed the incision. “Good work, everyone,” she said, stripping off her gloves and stepping back. “Take over the post-op notes. I have to go.”
She didn’t wait for a response, already rushing toward the scrub sink. Her hands shook as she washed up, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
As soon as she was out of the OR, she tore off her surgical cap and made a beeline for the nearest nurse’s station. “Where is Lucas Adams?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
The nurse glanced up, startled. “OR 3. Dr. Hunt and Dr. Altman are operating.”
Amelia’s stomach sank. If Hunt and Altman were both involved, it was bad—trauma bad.
“What happened?” Amelia asked, her voice rising.
The nurse hesitated. “I’m not sure of all the details, but... he was shot. They said he coded once but they got him back.”
Shot.
The word echoed in Amelia’s mind, freezing her in place. She swayed slightly, gripping the counter for support.
“I—I need to see him,” she stammered, but before she could move, her pager buzzed again.
It was from the OR: Lucas is stable.
Amelia exhaled a shuddering breath, relief flooding her system even as her knees threatened to buckle. Stable. He was stable. For now.
Still, the tight knot in her chest didn’t ease as she made her way to the observation deck overlooking OR 3. She needed to see him—to see for herself that he was still alive.
Amelia burst into the observation deck of OR 3, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She pressed her hands against the glass, her eyes immediately finding the gurney below. Lucas lay motionless, his body draped in surgical blue, save for the exposed section of his abdomen. Blood-streaked instruments lined the trays, and Dr. Teddy Altman was finishing the final sutures.
Her heart clenched. Lucas looked so small and pale under the harsh surgical lights. The sight of the monitors, the IV lines, and the sheer amount of blood loss displayed on the suction containers hit her like a freight train.
“What the hell happened to you, Lucas?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
In the OR, Owen Hunt spoke to the team as Teddy worked. “Let’s keep a close watch on his output over the next few hours. We’ll need serial labs to monitor his hemoglobin and platelets.”
“Vitals are stable for now,” the anesthesiologist reported, though her tone carried the same tension that hung heavy in the room.
Amelia’s stomach churned at the word “for now.” It was never a guarantee, especially not with trauma this severe.
She watched as Owen stepped back, peeling off his gloves. He exchanged a quiet word with Teddy before glancing up toward the observation deck. His eyes met Amelia’s, and his face softened for a brief moment before he turned back to the patient.
“Teddy,” he said quietly, “let’s make sure the chest x-rays and follow-ups are expedited. I want nothing missed.”
Amelia’s hands gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. She hated this—being an observer when someone she loved was on the table.
She couldn’t stop her mind from spiraling, thinking about all the ways this could have ended differently. What if Lucas hadn’t made it to the hospital in time? What if he coded again? What if—
The sound of the OR doors swinging open startled her. Moments later, Owen and Teddy entered the observation deck, their scrubs stained with Lucas’ blood.
“Amelia,” Owen started, his voice gentle but firm, “he made it through the surgery.”
Her eyes darted between them. “What the hell happened?” she demanded, her voice cracking.
Owen sighed, running a hand over his face. “He was shot in a convenience store robbery. The bullet hit his spleen. He lost a lot of blood and coded once on the table, but we removed the spleen and got him stabilized. He’s not out of the woods yet, but we’re cautiously optimistic.”
Convenience store robbery. Amelia’s mind raced, blood rushing inside her head.
“Cautiously optimistic?” Amelia repeated, her voice rising. “What does that even mean, Owen? He coded! He—”
“Amelia,” Teddy interrupted gently, placing a hand on her arm. “I know this is terrifying. But right now, he’s stable. We’ll monitor him closely. We’ve done everything we can for now.”
Amelia nodded, but her mind was still racing. “I—I need to see him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Teddy gave her a soft smile. “They’ll be moving him to the ICU shortly. You’ll be able to see him there.”
Owen added, “But, Amelia, you need to breathe. He’s going to need you, and you’re no help to him if you’re panicking.”
Amelia bristled but knew he was right. She nodded again, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll wait. But I want updates the second anything changes.”
Owen gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We will. I promise.”
As the two surgeons left to debrief the ICU team, Amelia sank into a chair, her head in her hands. The adrenaline coursing through her veins left her trembling. She had no idea how Lucas had ended up in the middle of a robbery, and frankly, she didn’t care at the moment. All she cared about was that he was alive.
Her gaze returned to the empty OR below. The sight of the blood-soaked drapes being cleared away made her shudder. For a fleeting moment, she was reminded of Derek—the day she had lost her brother.
“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “Not this time.”
She straightened up, steeling herself. Lucas had fought his way through the first hurdle, and she would fight every step of the way to make sure he came out on the other side.