Medical Center.
Emergency Ward.
"You've got some serious bias against us soldiers, don't you?"
Urban soldier king and military medic Major Hunter was getting fed up with being called out—it was starting to tick him off.
"Did I say something wrong?" Cristina shot back.
Spending so much time around Adam had subtly shifted her worldview without her even noticing. It's like having that one standout friend in your circle—everything they say or do becomes something everyone else unconsciously mimics. Their catchphrases? Totally contagious. Inside the group, you don't even notice it. But step outside, and you're parroting them without thinking, giving outsiders a strong vibe they can't ignore.
Adam was that friend. He had a deep impact on everyone in his orbit. The more someone admired him, the bigger the influence. Cristina, in the realm of medicine, practically worshipped Adam on a professional level. His perspectives had long since sunk in, adopted and mirrored by her—so naturally that she didn't even realize she'd changed. She just assumed she'd always been this way.
On the flip side, take Meredith. She didn't push herself professionally, got her romantic fantasies about Adam brutally shut down, and was kept at arm's length in terms of friendship—closer than acquaintances, but far from besties. Plus, with her protagonist-level luck, she had skills like "100% pants-dropping drunk" and "once-in-a-hundred-days European dream," earning her a reputation as a heartbreaker. All that meant Adam's influence on her was minimal—barely worth mentioning. The result? She nearly got manipulated by a death row inmate not too long ago.
"…"
Hunter had no comeback. Silently, he picked up the sutures and started stitching Cristina's wound.
Some things you can do but can't explain. Back in the day, Hunter never saw an issue with it. But now that Cristina had peeled back his shiny exterior to reveal the unpolished truth underneath, his lingering shred of shame left him speechless.
Real's real. Fake's fake. No arguing that.
"Tell me about battlefield trauma surgeries," Cristina said. Seeing him clam up, she didn't press further. Letting him stitch, she shifted gears to something useful—battlefield injuries. She didn't think much of military medics' training, figuring only the less talented ended up on the front lines. But she had to admit: the battlefield was the ultimate proving ground. With a flood of severe cases every day, even the least gifted docs could level up fast. She was genuinely curious about trauma cases she might never see in a hospital. Learning made her happy.
"Trauma? No time to make it perfect…"
Hunter started talking, but just a few sentences in, he finished stitching. His speed was impressive, no denying that.
"Drop your pants—I need to give you a cefazolin shot."
It was standard procedure. Cristina wasn't about to get shy; she tugged her waistband down a bit.
Hunter glanced over, grabbed the syringe, and jabbed it in, delivering the antibiotic.
"You'd be a hell of a medic in the field," he said, noticing she still wasn't fazed by his charm. Switching tactics, he laid on the praise. "Plus, now that you've got a scar, it'll make you more relatable."
"Heh." Cristina couldn't help but laugh.
Hunter saw the praise land and mentally kicked himself. Playing the cool tough guy only worked on some women. Complimenting them? That worked on all of them.
"I'm serious," he pressed, sensing an opening. "You should get out of here, go chase some adventure. Can this place really let you throw yourself into it? Nah—it's just holding you back."
"Are you kidding me?" Cristina snapped out of her flattered moment and gave him a look, scoffing. "This is the fourth-best teaching hospital in the country, and it's got a real shot at number one this year. If Adam can stay here, why can't I?"
"Adam, Adam—seriously, is this Adam guy that amazing?" Hunter muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Heh." Cristina's laugh turned gleeful as she watched his face darken. "You're such a military medic—clueless about real medical genius. The battlefield might've made you, but it's also boxed you in. Here's some advice: don't ever say that to anyone else out there."
"…"
Hunter's frustration hit peak levels again.
Just then, the door swung open.
The chief of surgery stepped in. "Dr. Hunter, there you are. How's the leg?"
"Dr. Yang took care of it—did a great job," Hunter said quickly, a little uneasy at being caught off-guard.
"Good to hear," the chief nodded, getting to the point. "I asked around. The Maryland Shock Trauma Center speaks highly of you. I heard you once turned a blown-up Humvee into an operating table in the desert—is that true?"
"You've got to improvise in the desert," Hunter said, tilting his head with a hint of pride.
"You've got to improvise everywhere," the chief replied with a smile. "Dr. Hunter, would you consider working here?"
"Thanks for the offer, but I've got to get back to the desert and finish my mission," Hunter said, glancing at Cristina as he turned it down.
"Fair enough. Good luck," the chief said, not pushing it.
He admired Hunter's field experience—having him in the ER would've made the medical center's emergency team even stronger. But if the guy wasn't interested, he wouldn't force it. With Adam holding down the fort, it didn't really matter either way. So, he left.
"…"
Hunter watched the chief walk out without a second invite. Combined with all the times he'd been shut down since getting back, he was starting to get annoyed. He tossed his gloves in the trash, took a deep breath, yanked the blinds shut, spun around, grabbed Cristina, and went in for a domineering kiss.
In his mind, this was divine timing. He was leaving soon—why not? Can't let God's gift go to waste.
But then he sensed something off. Cristina wasn't melting under his bold move—she was fighting back, hard. As her struggling intensified, he started to worry and let go.
"Jerk!"
Cristina swung her hand at his face but stopped short.
"See? I knew you couldn't bring yourself to hit me," Hunter grinned smugly, spreading his arms for another go.
"Can't bring myself?" Cristina sneered, grabbing a metal tray from the table and swinging it full-force at his smug, oncoming face.
WHACK!
The tray slammed into the soldier king medic who'd bet she wouldn't dare.
"Pervert! I just didn't want to mess up my surgeon hands!" she mocked, voice thick with restrained fury. "Your face isn't worth my slap!"
Hunter clutched his stinging face, reeling from Cristina's biting sarcasm. He was done for.
How did this happen?
This didn't make sense!
No—this wasn't even scientific!
This was straight-up un-theological!
(End of Chapter)