dical Center.
A few days later—
"Dr. Duncan…"
The surgical chief stood with hands on hips in front of the OR schedule board, staring at the jam-packed list, irritation bubbling over.
"Dr. Duncan hasn't left the operating room in three days," his secretary piped up, guessing what he was about to say. "He's been going nonstop."
"Ugh."
The chief faltered, then let out a long sigh. "And where's my neurosurgery director? Missing for three days! Even with Adam pulling all-nighters to help, it's been so busy lately—surgeries are piling up.
Damn craniotomies. Used to be mostly heart cases, but now everyone's got brain problems. Looks like we need to beef up neurosurgery."
"Put on the schedule—I won't let you down," Mark Sloan said, striding over and jumping at the chance.
The chief shot him a look but said nothing.
His eyes did the talking: "You're a plastic surgeon wanting to do a craniotomy? Sure, maybe on —'cause agreeing to that ans my brain's the one with issues."
"I can do craniotomies, Chief," a timid voice chid in.
The chief, Mark, and the secretary turned to see a middle-aged, balding guy in glasses and a white coat, raising his hand. Facing their stares, he forced a smile—one dripping with bitterness and resignation.
"Schedule Dr. Nelson for the craniotomies," the chief said after a few glances, turning away with a reluctant, helpless expression. As he passed the balding guy, he muttered without looking, "Thanks, John."
"Uh, I'm Jim," the man corrected weakly.
Too bad the chief was already gone—and couldn't care less about getting the na right. Last na was close enough.
"You're new, right?"
Mark stepped up, offering a handshake. "Welco to New York dical Center."
"I've been here over a decade," Dr. Jim Nelson said, forcing a smile that quickly faded. His face darkened as he dropped a bombshell: "Before Shepherd swooped in from Boston, I was the neurosurgery director here."
"…"
Mark froze, scrambling to smooth it over. "I'm Mark Sloan, plastics."
"I know," Nelson said with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "We've t… three tis."
Then he bolted.
Being invisible stung too much.
Back in the day, he'd been a big deal at New York dical Center. Neurosurgery director—not as flashy as Burke in cardiothoracic, but right behind him. The third-ranking star in surgery.
Then ca Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Montgory, Mark Sloan—all these hotshot docs—plus Adam, redith, and Christina, the rising-star residents.
He got shoved to the sidelines.
These people had skills, looks, and scandals. One of them in a hospital? Instant celebrity. But all of them at New York dical Center? It was like filming a dical soap opera.
Yup, like those pretty-boy, glamorous-doctor shows.
Damn it!
This wasn't normal! Real hospitals, real top docs—they were supposed to be like him: balding, wild-haired, average Joes!
Mark Sloan and his ilk—those freakishly handso surgeons—t him three tis and still thought he was new. Fine, they're arrogant, big egos, whatever.
But what really gutted him? He'd been the neurosurgery director for over a decade, the surgical No. 3—heck, No. 2 before Burke showed up.
Shepherd rolls in, not even two years, and the chief's all about him—heart and soul. Now he can't even get Nelson's na right.
This…
Mark watched the ex-director shuffle off, feeling an odd pang of empathy. He could almost taste Nelson's quiet despair.
It hit too close to ho—him, the guy who used to barely glance at people. Sha bubbled up, and he needed to vent.
"Callie, ever heard of Dr. Nelson in neurosurgery?"
He caught the ortho chief resident passing by and flagged her down.
Callie blinked, spaced out for a few seconds, then lit up. "Oh, yeah!"
"Full na?"
Mark tilted his head, eyeing her.
"…"
Callie clamd up.
"You're a chief resident and don't even know the forr neurosurgery director's full na?"
Mark ribbed her.
"I know he's Dr. Nelson—that's enough," Callie said with a laugh. "He's decent, but he's just Shepherd's dark, crippled knockoff. You know, a stepping stone."
"Oh, I get it," Mark snapped, heating up. "So because he hasn't published groundbreaking papers, done so famous surgery, or rocked a cool hairstyle, he's not a person?"
"Pretty much," Callie said, thinking it over and nodding seriously.
"…"
Mark had no coback.
"What's with you?" Callie asked, surprised. "You've been here over a year—never saw you care about him before. Wait, did you even know who he was?"
"Everyone deserves so dignity!" Mark said, face darkening. "Sure, compared to Derek, Nelson's not so standout.
No chiseled looks, perfect bod, killer hair, or smoldering eyes.
Not even close to Derek's skill level.
But we should respect him.
'Cause compared to Adam, we're all Nelson. Respecting him is respecting ourselves!"
"What's his deal?"
Callie watched Mark storm off, totally lost. She grabbed Dr. Bailey passing by. "What's up with him?"
"He's a plastic surgeon with no groundbreaking clinical research to his na," Bailey said dryly. "ntally, physically—beat up every which way. He's finally feeling what Nelson's been through."
"Huh?"
Callie blinked, then burst out laughing. "Mark Sloan and—ha—Nelson having sothing in common? Weird stuff happens every year, but this year's wild!"
"Stop laughing," Bailey cut in, frowning. "You're chief resident. The hospital's a madhouse right now—you need to go drag Shepherd back."
"?"
Callie shook her head. "I heard he's holed up in that trailer in the woods again. It's filthy—bugs everywhere."
Bailey just stared at her, silent.
"What if Duncan goes instead?" Callie offered, desperate. "He's been in the OR three days straight—he could use a break. Plus, he'd have more pull with Shepherd…"
"You know how slamd the OR is right now, right?" Bailey interrupted. "And Adam's the wrong guy for this. He never screws up—how's he supposed to talk to Shepherd, who's drowning in his mistakes?
He'd just remind Shepherd not everyone sses up.
You wanna make Shepherd feel worse?"
"Fine, fine," Callie said, no match for Bailey's logic. "I'll go."
(End of Chapter)
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