Medical Center. Hospital Ward.
After some convincing from Adam, Phoebe finally agreed to push back her wedding—despite the risk of Monica taking over everything.
This way, her stepdad might get bail in time to attend, and she wouldn't have to rope Joey into playing her dad and walking her down the aisle. Ever since she'd asked Joey, he'd gotten way too into the role, constantly eyeballing her fiancé Mike with that stern father-in-law glare.
It was making Mike super uncomfortable.
Ermmm.
As long as her stepdad didn't stab anyone else in prison lately. Oh, and Adam had to pitch in too.
After chatting with the Friends gang for a bit, Adam headed out. It was work hours, and his team of rookies was in the final stretch of their first shift rotation. He needed to keep an eye on them and scout for new surgeries.
Phoebe's wedding was coming up, and he had to be there. That meant getting his "lifespan boost" task squared away early so he could enjoy the day stress-free.
First stop: the free clinic to check on George O'Malley.
Gotta hand it to Cristina—she's blunt, but she's not wrong. Surgeries popping up at the free clinic? Rare as hell.
George was bored out of his mind, dealing with random minor complaints. Like:
- Some guy brought in a baggie of his own vomit, insisting George inspect it—and smell it—to figure out what was wrong.
- Another patient came in with a stomachache, but the second he saw George, he suddenly decided his prostate was the issue and begged for a check.
The free clinic's whole deal was that it's free because docs volunteer, and the equipment's bare-bones. No fancy machines here—it's all about the doctor's skill.
If a case got too tricky and needed the hospital's gear, though? That's when the bills kicked in.
Under Dr. Bailey's hawk-like stare, George had no choice but to glove up, head to a private room, and give the guy a rectal exam. When he came out, the patient looked way too pleased, promising to come back if anything else popped up—and asking for George's schedule.
George's face in that moment…
Ermmm.
Maximum damage, maximum humiliation.
Even tough-as-nails Dr. Bailey had to duck her head and bite her lip to keep from laughing. She quickly switched to her serious doctor voice, barking at the patient until he shrank under her glare.
When she threatened a mandatory psych eval—possibly landing him in a mental ward or the police station—he shuffled off, glancing back at George with longing every few steps.
Adam watched quietly for a bit, then slipped away. With Bailey riding herd on George, he didn't need to worry. All good there.
But Carter, who was stuck with "West Poison" Ouyang Feng? Total letdown. No emergencies had popped up since.
Made sense, though. When Cristina was in charge, Ouyang Feng had just woken up to his situation—already amped up—and Cristina's sharp tongue pushed him into cardiac arrest twice in no time. Now that phase was over, and Carter was playing it safe, doting on the guy like a nervous babysitter. No way Ouyang Feng was crashing again soon.
What, was Adam supposed to tell Carter to trash-talk him into a relapse?
He checked his watch. Ouyang Feng's addiction was ticking down—next craving wasn't far off. If he couldn't get relief, the odds of a flare-up would skyrocket.
With that in mind, Adam left Carter alone and moved on.
Outside Brooke's room, the Sex and the City crew stood in the hallway, dead quiet.
Kelly, clearly antsy, yanked a pack of lady cigs from her bag and popped one in her mouth like a pro.
"Ma'am, no smoking here!" a nurse snapped, swooping in.
Kelly opened her mouth to argue, but the nurse's glare—plus the giant "No Smoking" sign she pointed to—shut her down. Grumbling, she stuffed the cigarette back in the pack.
"What's up?" Adam asked, strolling up to the scene. His gut twinged, and he gave Kelly a weird look.
Did she catch something?
"It's not me…" Kelly caught his stare and shook her head, nodding toward a silent Samantha instead.
"Of course it's not you," Adam said with a nod.
Forget the fact that Barney was mostly recovered, with almost no risk of spreading anything now. Kelly? She was a seasoned pro—self-protection was her middle name.
Cue the classic moment:
At some fancy party, a waiter bumped her, and her clutch hit the floor, spilling everywhere. Lipsticks rolled out, sure—but the real star? A stack of "magic items."
Ermmm.
The kind Rajesh and Howard carry like a badge of honor. The kind Adam's dad, Bob, slipped him before his high school grad party.
Think a deck of "magic connected cards"—except Kelly's were labeled in bold: Ultra-Thin!
The room lost it.
Some perv piped up, "Now I get why success isn't luck—Ms. Bradshaw's Sex and the City soul comes from hard work~!"
"Art imitates life, right~?"
"Ms. Bradshaw, I've got a story—interested~?"
"Hahaha!"
The flirty jabs and innuendos just kept coming.
Kelly wrote this stuff for a living and owned it. Sure, she was flustered at first, but once she scooped everything up, she jumped right back into the party like nothing happened.
That confidence won over a ton of the women there—they swarmed her, chatting up a storm. Naturally, a few pervs tried pitching her their "stories" too.
She broke it down for them:
1. In this lust-filled city, you've gotta protect yourself—don't give selfish jerks an opening.
2. For your own sake—if you meet a guy you're crazy about, you don't wanna miss out because you're unprepared.
3. Plus, bringing your own lets you pick what you like, with quality you can trust. No surprises.
Three wins, zero downsides.
So, Kelly catching something from a low-risk Barney? That'd be some next-level bad luck.
"Bad test results?" Adam asked, shifting his gaze from Kelly to a suddenly subdued Samantha.
"That Dr. Pierce said Samantha might have breast cancer," Kelly said, worry creasing her face.
"Dr. Pierce is a senior oncology resident," Adam replied. "Where's the scan? Let me take a look."
Kelly handed over the films quick. "They've done a physical exam and imaging already. She said they need a biopsy to confirm."
"Hmm." Adam studied the CT scan. "Yeah, for a solid diagnosis, a biopsy's the way to go."
"How's it look?" Kelly pressed.
"Even if it's breast cancer, it's early-stage—treatable," Adam said, reassuring her. "This is actually a good thing. If it snuck into mid- or late-stage unnoticed, that's when it'd get messy."
"So today's my lucky day, huh?" Samantha quipped, dripping with sarcasm.
"In a way, yeah," Adam nodded, dead serious.
The Sex and the City crew: "…"
(End of Chapter)