Charlie Miller and Derek Shepherd are both neurosurgeons with massive egos, they constantly clash and argue in and out of the OR. The tension between them is very strong and disruptive for themselves and everyone around them. What happens when they...
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The conference room hummed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and ambition. Rows of chairs faced the podium, their occupants—neurosurgeons, researchers, and sceptics—waiting for enlightenment. I stood at the centre, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Derek Shepherd sat in the front row, his posture relaxed, as if he owned the room. His chiselled jaw and those damn blue eyes starring right at me.
My slides flickered to life on the screen behind me. Neural regeneration—the culmination of years of research, sleepless nights, and relentless determination. The room held its breath, waiting for the revelation.
"Dr. Miller," Derek's voice cut through the silence. "How do you account for the increased risk of complications?"
His question was a scalpel, slicing through my confidence. I squared my shoulders, refusing to falter. "Risk is the price we pay for progress," I retorted. "We can't cling to the old ways forever."
Derek leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And what if that risk costs a patient their life?"
The audience shifted, torn between us. I felt their eyes—their judgment. I'd dared to challenge convention, to question the sacred doctrines of neurosurgery. But I wouldn't back down.
"Then we learn from it," I said, my voice steady, "and keep moving forward."
Derek's lips curved into a condescending smile. "Bold words, Dr. Miller. But innovation without caution is reckless."
Reckless. The word echoed in my mind. Was I reckless? Or was Derek merely afraid of change? His conservatism stifled progress, while my audacity pushed boundaries. We were two sides of the same coin—opposites destined to collide.
I gestured to my slides, the images of neural pathways glowing like constellations. "Our patients deserve more," I said. "They deserve hope, even if it comes with risk."
Derek's fingers drummed on the armrest. "Hope won't save lives," he shot back. "Precision will."
The room held its breath. Precision versus innovation. Tradition versus evolution. And there I stood, caught in the crossfire.
After the meeting, I walk straight into the OR to find Dr Shepherd stood there waiting for me.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I say, already annoyed just by his presence in the room. That is when Dr Webber storms in behind me.
"I paged you both into this OR, because of the mockery you made of each other and your entire department in the conference this morning. So until I can see that you guys can get along, you will be working together until i say so. That means that where ever one of you goes the other follows, this means, consults, ORs, lunch. I. Don't. Care. Just do it." And with that he walks straight back out of the room, leaving me and Derek just stood there.
