Medical Center. Emergency Room.
"What's the situation?"
Adam walked up with Shorty trailing behind him.
"58-year-old male, motor vehicle accident. Heart rate's at 160, blood pressure's 80, and he's got weak breathing on both sides," the paramedic rattled off quickly.
"What's going on here?"
Adam frowned, eyeing the guy in camouflage sprawled over the patient.
"I didn't do anything," the paramedic said, throwing his hands up. "He'd already done it all by the time I got there."
"You didn't notice?"
The soldier, who was hovering over the patient's neck and blowing air through a pen jammed into it, glanced up at Adam. "The ambulance wasn't there yet, and all I had was a ballpoint pen. Don't worry, I disinfected it with snow."
"Melendez, take over," Adam instructed Shorty. Then he turned to the camo-clad guy, who looked every bit like a proud soldier king returning to the city. "Soldier, you can let go now."
"Major Owen Hunt, U.S. Army, Second Frontline Surgical Team. I'm a trauma doctor," the camo guy said, clearly annoyed at being called just a "soldier." He started listing his credentials, eyeing Adam and Shorty with a skeptical look. "You sure about this?"
"Before the ambulance got here, you used a ballpoint pen to intubate the patient in time to save him. No problem there," Adam said, pushing the patient toward the ER. He shot Hunt a glance. "I'd have done the same.
But then you hopped on the ambulance too.
Don't tell me there wasn't a basic air bag on board?
You really had to keep breathing for him with your mouth?
Major Hunt, is that how they do it on the battlefield?
You sure about that?"
"…"
Major Owen Hunt froze for a second.
"Haha!"
Christina, who was nearby with some interns waiting for other ambulances, burst out laughing.
"Dr. Yang, patch up Major Hunt's leg wound," Adam called out as he disappeared into the ER, his voice echoing back.
Only then did Christina notice the blood soaking Hunt's thigh. She quickly signaled an intern to help him.
"No need," Hunt said, brushing off the intern's attempt to assist. The returning soldier king wasn't about to let a little wound slow him down. He limped toward the ER on his own.
"Major Hunt, what are you doing?" Christina blinked, hurrying after him.
"I need to check on my patients," Hunt said, looking like he didn't trust anyone else to handle it.
"Oh, come on!" Christina grabbed his arm. "You don't even know who Adam is?"
"Is he famous or something?" Hunt paused, sizing her up. "He's so young and way too cocky."
"You really don't know him?" Christina studied his face, starting to wonder if he was pretending. "Pretty much everyone in the country knows Adam by now. It'd be weird if you didn't."
"I've been overseas, fighting for my country," Hunt said, meeting her gaze.
"But you're a doctor," Christina said, puzzled. "Don't you keep up with the latest in the medical world?"
Then it hit her, and she smirked. "Oh, right. You didn't even think to use an air bag—just kept blowing air with your mouth. Guess being a military doctor must be a breeze, huh?"
"I'm just not used to it. It didn't cross my mind," Hunt muttered, his face turning red as he tried to defend himself.
"Uh-huh, sure," Christina said with a noncommittal nod. "Let me take care of that leg wound for you."
"You don't believe me?" Hunt snapped, his temper flaring. "Are you insulting the honor of a military doctor who's fought for this country?"
"Nope," Christina said, shaking her head with zero sincerity. When he kept glaring at her, she frowned. "But seriously, how many good doctors actually sign up to be military medics on the front lines? And as for 'fighting for your country'—"
"What's wrong with fighting for my country?" Hunt cut in. He couldn't argue with her point about good doctors avoiding the military, so he latched onto her last comment. "Are you saying military doctors don't fight for the nation?"
"Calm down," Christina said, pulling him into a room. She started cutting away the camo fabric around his thigh to check the wound. "I'm not picking on military doctors. You're still doctors, after all."
"Then what are you saying?" Hunt asked, cooling off a bit.
"Oh, come on, do I really have to spell it out?" Christina shot him a look as she began disinfecting his wound. "We've all heard it since we were kids: business is business, everything's business.
You guys cross continents and oceans to 'fight for the country'? To protect us from some threat? From enemies thousands of miles away, separated by oceans, who couldn't even reach us if they tried? In this day and age, is there anything out there that could actually threaten this country?
Even if there was, it wouldn't be those tiny nations, right? It's all about interests. You're just out there securing profits for the military-industrial complex."
Hunt stared at her, dumbfounded. Christina's heart skipped a beat. "You okay?"
"Is that really how people back home see us?" Hunt asked, dazed.
"Don't worry," Christina said casually. "Only a few of us are this clear-headed. Most people are brainwashed by the media, don't think for themselves, and still see you as heroes!"
Hunt: "…"
Seeing he wasn't about to flip out, Christina relaxed. She turned to grab an anesthetic needle to numb him up for stitches.
Hunt glanced at her. Sure, he didn't love what she'd said, but he kind of admired her confident, bold personality. And the fact that she was a woman? Even better.
He'd been on rotation, hadn't even made it home yet, when he got caught up in a car accident at an intersection and jumped into emergency rescue mode. That made him extra lenient toward any woman right now.
So, he snuck a look at Christina's figure as she turned away, then grabbed the auto-suturing device from the table. Like it was a stapler, he started going to town on his leg wound.
Click!
"Hmph!"
The first one made him grunt.
Damn it! That hurt more than he'd expected. But he'd started, so no turning back now.
Click! Click! Click!
Hunt gritted his teeth, stitching up his own wound.
"What are you doing?" Christina spun around at the noise, gaping at the scene. "I haven't even given you the anesthetic yet!"
"So?" Hunt played it off coolly, like it was no big deal.
"Are you on rotation or retired?" Christina asked, stunned. The sound of that stapler-like stitching made her wince. Then something clicked, and she added, "Wait, why are you doing this?"
"Rotation," Hunt said, a spark of pride flickering inside.
See that, lady? Finally got your attention, didn't I? Impressed you, huh? This is what a real man looks like!
"Still on rotation?" Christina gave him a pitying look. "You're already showing signs of PTSD. It's still mild—retire now before it gets worse. You don't want it to end up hurting your family."
"…I don't have PTSD!" Hunt said, exasperated.
What was with the women in this city? He couldn't keep up with their logic at all.
"You sure about that?" Christina looked at him with sympathy. "You've got an anesthetic needle right there, but you'd rather put yourself through unnecessary pain.
If that's not PTSD, what is it—masochism? Don't tell me it doesn't hurt!"
Urban Soldier King and Military Doctor Hunt: "…"
(End of Chapter)