The girl stood in the doorway, literally glowing in the harsh light slanting into the recovery ward from behind her.

"Close the damned door!"

She started, her eyes huge. Realizing the barked command was directed at her, she moved forward out of the airlock leading from the entrance module and pulled the door to with some effort. "Pardonnez-moi." The voice was soft, mellifluous, obviously French.

Irritated, the doctor looked up from the patient he was examining. "Unless you're fluent in Sinhalese or Tamil, all hospital personnel here speak English." She nodded curtly in response.

Still seeing spots from the glare of the sun, he squinted in order to get a better look at the intruder. Tall, slim, poised like a deer on the verge of bounding off into the woods in panic, she had a large backpack slung over one shoulder and a bottle of water in her other hand. Her wavy hair was up in a practical though rather messy bun, leaving the long slender slightly sunburned neck exposed; damp-darkened curls lay plastered to her forehead, counterpart to the sweat rings under her arms. Like most new arrivals she had probably taken the six-hour train trip from Colombo to Kilinochchi, followed by an hour-long taxi ride to the field hospital here at Mullaitivu. Despite her obvious fatigue and the dustiness and rumpling of her travel stained clothing, the girl was still stunning. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Delphine Cormier. I'm a volunteer for the summer. Léon — euh, Dr. Léon Archambault assigned me here."

Great. He wasn't immediately familiar with the name but it rang a bell, one of the higher-ups having to do with the CMH Board of Directors. Doing a favor for a family friend, he supposed. "What sort of experience do you have?"

The smooth throat rippled as she swallowed. "I've just completed my second year of the MD/PhD program at Paris-Sud."

"God save me from idealistic mother-wet nurslings," he muttered under his breath, though clearly still within her hearing. He could see her react to his words, her back stiffening and her lips tightening into a straight line. "What was your undergraduate focus?"

"Microbiology with applied immunology and parasitology."

One eyebrow arched even as his mouth dipped in dark amusement. "Well, that's somewhat useful and relevant, at least. Can you do a manual CBC and diff, run a urinalysis, type and cross-match blood for transfusions?"

"No." He was pleased to see that rather than apologizing or growing defensive the girl seemed to look more determined. If she was angry, she hid it well. "Not yet, anyway. But I'll learn."

Appraising her again, he nodded. "Congratulations. You're now a laboratory and medical technician. Go see the logistics coordinator for your bunk assignment and report back here as soon as possible. We're short-staffed and I'll need you to assist me in surgery."

"But I've never — "

"Good, then you won't have any bad habits to unlearn. Édouard Martel," he said, extending a hand. She hesitated a moment, then shook it firmly. "Welcome aboard."

By the end of her third week, Delphine could draw blood from even a dehydrated neonatal patient, do a cephalic, saphenous or jugular venous cutdown if needed for placement of an IV catheter, identify signs of Dengue fever, babesiosis and other bloodborne pathogens in the steady stream of patients that came through the hospital's doors, and assist unblinkingly with the most gruesome of surgical procedures. Édouard had to admit that he was impressed and early on began to seek her out over most of the regular support staff and longterm volunteers, even changing her schedule so that their shifts always coincided.

Today she was assisting while he performed a below-knee amputation on a former surrendered militant who had sustained a blast injury and subsequent chronic infection of his foot and ankle. Even though the 25-year Sri Lankan civil war had ground to a bloody halt months ago, the CMH field hospital along with similar installations run by MSF and IMC still treated thousands of such injuries, most of which had never received proper medical attention.

She had already prepped the site and set out the contents of the amputation kit on the Mayo stand, kneading a stick of bone wax to get it pliable while he scrubbed in. At his direction, she applied the tourniquet, doubling back the buckle and recording the time. Carrying the circumferential incision to create equal anterior and posterior flaps of skin and muscle, he quickly incised through soft tissue all the way down to the bone. Without being asked, never balking despite the fact that her hand was nearly touching necrotic tissue that literally heaved with maggots, she firmly grasped the leg proximally and distally to the amputation site to give him ample traction to stabilize the limb while he cut through the tibia and fibula with slow back-and-forth motions of the Gigli saw. In the time he had been stationed here, he had performed dozens of similar operations but this was one of the worst he had seen. And dear God, the smell...

"You did well today," he told her over lunch when they finally had a break in the caseload. They sat at one of the tables outside the canteen, the stifling late afternoon heat rendered almost pleasant under the shade of a large ironwood tree. As had become their habit when off duty, they spoke in French, breaking the unwritten hospital rule.

There it was, the faintly sardonic lift of her eyebrow that said validation was unnecessary, thank you very much. She was the most damnably self-possessed young woman he had ever met. "I did my job."

"And you did it well," he repeated. "What field are you going to specialize in?"

"Immunology. I intend to go into research."

He blinked in surprise. "Not trauma? You have the aptitude, and the temperament."

"Are you saying I'm clinically detached?"

The beauty spot below her lip seemed to be designed to draw his attention to the slow curl of her smile. Small sunbursts crinkled at the corners of those extraordinary eyes. She was laughing at him, he realized, which pleased him; usually she was so very serious. "On the contrary. You project calmness and competence in highly stressful situations. And you relate well to the patients. Even when there is a significant language barrier, somehow they trust you, which is enormously helpful in getting them through what can be painful or incredibly unpleasant procedures. That's an invaluable skill, and not necessarily one that can be taught. Emergency medicine would seem to be a natural fit."

Delphine shook her head; idly he watched the honey blonde curls bounce. "Perhaps, but it is not where my passion lies. I've been endorsed by a host lab at l'Institut de Maria Sibylla Merian to start my fellowship as soon as I've completed my doctorate."

Blowing out a puff of air, he slumped back in his chair. "You're an ambitious one, aren't you? If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing here?"

"I'm neither an adrenaline junkie nor a masochist nor a bleeding heart romantic," she said dryly, acknowledging the widely recognized psychological makeup of the vast majority of CMH's staff. "My uncle Léon suggested this as a way to get practical, hands-on experience in a way I never could in Europe or the States. He said I needed to spend some time away from the ivory tower, and I decided he was right. I didn't expect to — well, 'enjoy' is probably too strong a word for it, but finding out that I can handle myself in this kind of environment has been... enlightening." Patting the pocket of her scrub top, she pulled out a packet of Gitanes and held it out to him; with a nod of thanks, he took a cigarette, cupping his hands around the flame of the lighter she proffered him before she lit her own. They smoked in companionable silence for a while, blowing plumes up into the canopy of blue-gray leaves and tapping their ashes into the remnants of food on their metal trays.

"How about you?" she asked after a while. "You could be making a hundred times the money with far more prestige as a trauma surgeon back home, without the heat and humidity and mosquitoes. Not to mention the lack of privacy and social life and having to adhere to security regulations at all times."

Édouard shrugged. "Maybe I am an adrenaline junkie and a masochist and a bleeding heart romantic," he said lightly. "I don't know. I've been here long enough that I suppose I'm a lifer now."

To his relief, she didn't pursue her inquiry further.

"Hey, Cormier. You awake?"

Delphine had come to enjoy her bunkmate's rough and no-nonsense but friendly manner, which was refreshing and frankly a relief compared with the catty cliquishness of much of the staff toward the volunteers and other short-termers. Peg Sharpe had served with distinction as a U. S. Navy nurse; after retiring with the rank of Captain, it hadn't taken long for her to find civilian life stifling. Humanitarian mission work had called to her; its inherently unpredictable nature drew its indoctrinated ranks together with bonds forged in a crucible of blood, filth and chaos, similar to her experiences in combat. She had left behind a loving partner in Wisconsin but, she said firmly, she had no other regrets. From the beginning, Peg had taken Delphine under her wing, teaching quick-and-dirty but effective techniques gleaned from twenty years of dealing with casualties under every sort of condition imaginable. In the younger woman she had found a ferociously intelligent, capable and deeply appreciative pupil. "Yes."

The springs of the overhead bunk creaked and the entire frame shifted. There was enough leakage through the tent canvas from the compound's powerful tower lights for her to be able to see the silhouette of Peg's rumpled head as it popped over the edge to peer down at her. "Are you sleeping with him yet?"

No need to ask which "him" Peg was talking about; in the weeks she had been here, Delphine had spent virtually all of her working hours and a good deal of her free time with Édouard. "No. Why?"

White teeth flashed in the dimness. "There's a pool going. I just thought I'd try to get the scuttlebutt straight from the source."

A pool? Scuttlebutt? Delphine made a mental note to look up the terms the next time she had a moment in the computer center. "He's handsome, certainly. And I wouldn't mind a, a... what do you call it? A no-strings affair. But he doesn't seem to be interested."

"Not interested?" Peg snorted. "Honey, a half-blind pig tripping on mushrooms could tell that he's interested."

"Then why... ?"

"You want my guess? I think you intimidate him."

"Me! I'm just a nobody med student. He's the one saving lives."

"Maybe. But you won't be a student forever, and from what I've seen of you, I'd feel pretty good betting that your career trajectory is going to skyrocket once you leave here. Whereas his... well, let's just say word has it that he's here because he can't get work anywhere else."

"What do you mean?"

"He used to have privileges at one of the biggest hospitals in Lyon. From what I heard, he was named in a negligence case and the hospital paid out a 4.8-million euro settlement rather than go to court, since French law allows civil suits to be filed as criminal complaints."

She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "Meaning he could have served time in prison had he lost the suit."

"Yep."

"Do... do you know any details about the case?"

"Nope. But there's one other thing you might want to know about him, in case you do plan on taking him for a roll in the hay."

"What is it?"

"Before my friend Janice left for home when her most recent tour was up, she slept with him. Had her eye on him for a while, you see. Figured he'd be a nice going-away present." Peg extended a hand, waggling her pinky finger. "She said he's hung like a hamster. Said she could barely tell when he was inside her."

"So let me see if I have this right," said Sophie, swiping her tongue around the rim of her coffee mug to get every last trace of cocoa-dusted whipped cream. "This is the first time I've seen you since you got back from Sri Lanka because you've been so busy with school and he 'wants to keep you all to himself,' but he's leaving for a four-month stint in Sudan because he got tired of sitting on his ass on your couch since the only job he's been able to find here is a part-time locum tenens position. And you're okay with this?"

Sipping her second espresso, Delphine regarded her best friend wryly. "Thank you for putting the most cynical spin possible on things, as usual."

"You could pack two weeks' worth of clothes in the bags under your eyes. He's stressing you out."

"School is stressing me out. I'm taking three full graduate level classes and two extra lab rotations on top of the regular med school curriculum — "

"Bullshit. School doesn't stress you out. You fucking love school. You always have. School doesn't make you chain-smoke and break out in craters."

Guiltily she stopped her hand, which had been reaching toward her purse for another cigarette. "It's been a little tense lately," she admitted. "Part of the problem is that my place is so small. And this isn't exactly the best location for a trauma surgeon. It would be easier for him to find a job in Paris."

"Last I checked, he was a grown-ass man. No one told him to leave his CMH posting and follow you halfway around the world. And besides, it's only a 40-minute train ride down here from the city, so what's stopping him from looking for a job or an apartment there?"

Their last argument had been precisely about that. "We'll figure it out."

"Now that you're actually going to have some room to breathe, maybe." Tilting her head, Sophie narrowed her sky-blue eyes. "Is he any good in bed, at least?"

"Sophie!" she hissed. Hastily averted heads of nearby diners pretending not to pay attention surrounded them on the outdoor patio. She leaned forward on her elbows and dropped her voice. "He's not bad. He has lovely hands."

"Now there's a ringing endorsement."

"And he was very open when I introduced him to, euh — "

"Butt fucking?"

She felt herself blushing. "Yes."

"Let me guess: he's all about rogering you up the back door but won't let you peg him."

"He says he needs some more time to get used to the idea."

"The last guy you dated wouldn't fucking shut up about how amazing you were with a strap-on — "

"Sophie!"

Her friend waved at their server to flag him down. After they paid, they strolled slowly over to the train station a few blocks away. "Listen, Cormier, you know I love you, right?"

She smiled crookedly and nodded.

"I'm probably the last person who should give relationship advice. I mean, look at Daniel. He changed his major six times before dropping out his sophomore year and who knows when the last time he actually finished one of his paintings was. But he's crazy about me. Does Édouard love you?"

"He needs me."

"Not what I asked. Maybe I'm reading it wrong, maybe he's an amazing guy and I just need to get to know him. But I'm pretty sure I don't have to ask if you love him." At the station entrance, Sophie pulled her into a hug before kissing her on both cheeks. "You deserve better. You know that, right? Call me any time, okay?"

CMH, or the Corps Médical Humanitaire, is my made-up, slightly lower-rent and scrappier version of Médecins Sans Frontières, used mostly because MSF doesn't take short-term volunteers (except for specialty positions such as surgeons and anesthesiologists) and they certainly don't take med students who have no practical experience. The CMH facility is based on MSF's really cool inflatable hospital design, which is modular so it can be set up in three days and configured as needed.