Over the next few days an unspoken arrangement seemed to set itself in place. Every morning, while Connie was sorting through patient files, and every afternoon, if she was there, Max would climb in through the open window from the scaffolding ,and into her office where he would share his flask of tea with her while she muttered about budget cuts and targets. None of which he fully understood but at least he was there to listen, to bounce ideas off of.

The end of the week finally came, the weather had turned and there was the glimmer of autumn in the frisk of the wind.

Max leant against the windowsill, his blue plastic cup in hand, the nip in the wind sending a shiver along his back.

Connie was speaking to someone on the phone. She paced back and forth across the office floor, her free hand pressed against her forehead as she frowned, trying to understand whatever it was that the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

He watched her intently, her stiletto's tap-tapping on the floor tiles as she moved.

It had been a busy morning, she had been on the phone for most of it, and Max had only a few minutes left of his break.

She hung up without warning, glaring at the phone before placing it down firmly on the desk. She drew in a steadying breath and exhaled slowly.

"One of those days?"

Max asked, taking the last sip of his tea and screwing the cup back onto the flask. Connie looked up, momentarily having forgotten his presence.

"Aren't they always?"

She breathed, leaning against her desk, folding her arms, facing his silhouette that stood against the window.

"Why do you do it?"

He asked after a pause. She shrugged her shoulders in an uncharacteristic attempt at nonchalance.

"This is what I do..."

She said eventually. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to work her out. She let the hint of a smile escape her lips.

There came the sudden tapping of a hard hat on metal from beyond the window.

"I think that's your call..."

Connie murmured. Max glanced down out of the window. A face looked up at him from below, beckoning him down.

"See you later?"

Max asked, hoisting himself up to straddle the window ledge, flask tucked under one arm.

Connie smiled, the corners of her lips curling downwards, her lips pursing and she dipped her head.

"Perhaps."

She nodded, watching him smile in return as he lowered himself down onto the outside of the building.

Once he had disappeared she stepped back and turned herself from the window as she always did when he left the room.

Why was it, she thought, that relations between different people were so unsatisfactory, so fragmentary, so hazardous. What was she left with now, in this empty office? Was she feeling left alone in the emptiness? The mystery of life and the unreality even of one's own sensations were almost too much to bare. Had it always been this hard, she wondered? Or was it the ED? Grace? Growing older? Or was it just that she was tired of being alone?
She pushed her fingers into the furrow between her eyes, closing them against the pressure. Mentally chastising herself, pulling herself, all of the fragments of herself back together. Guy couldn't shake her, she decided. Whatever he decided to throw at her, she would remain, and she would come out on top.
She glanced at the clock. If she made her way to surgery now she would be early, but she would miss the crowd of people all getting into scrubs together, all, she assumed, talking about the new boy.
Decision made she left the office with her habitual backward glance to the window, only a passing seagull breaking the view.

Connie pushed against the double doors into theatre, taken aback by the presence of Guy and Tristan, masks covering their mouths, clearly about to begin the procedure that she had been scheduled to do.
She glanced at the clock. They had started early. She cleared her throat in a deliberate attempt the gain their attention. Guy refused to take her bait but Tristan looked up, his eyes unreadable above his mask.
"Mrs Beauchamp!"
He announced, his voice muffled.
"Sorry...? I was under the impression that I would be operating, as Mr Henderson is my patient?"
Her words were clipped, she looked from Tristan to Guy who looked up at her as she spoke.
"I didn't think you'd mind. Give Tristan a chance to see how we do things around here...give you a chance to catch up on all that paperwork that you must have."
Guy murmured, not even the hint of an apology...
Connie dug the nail of her thumb into the soft pad of her middle finger.
"Surely it's only polite to let me know...?"
She made sure to maintain composure, refusing to let Guy ruffle her. He smiled beneath his mask.
"Perhaps you would like to take my place?"
He asked, stepping back from the operating table and removing his mask before she could reply.
"I'm sure there's a lot you could teach him."
He said as he screwed up his mask and tossed it into the bin, moving passed her to the exit doors.
She refused to watch him leave, but could hear his footsteps pause at the door.
"I'm sure he will flourish under your guidance."
He said simply.
She heard the doors open and close, glancing up to find Tristan still there, still watching her, scalpel in one hand.
"Ready?"
He asked. She glanced to Mr Henderson.
"You'd better show me what you can do."
She said, her voice low. She folded her arms pointedly across her chest and backed away from the table, standing instead with her back to the wall, a fair distance away.
"Without you?"
He asked, gesturing alarmingly with the scalpel.
"He's all yours."
She murmured, watching as he frowned slightly before looking around at the rest of the team.
"Ri-ight..."
He looked down at the patient.
"Well! Team...What can I tell you? A few ground rules. No bombing, no running, no petting, no diving and no inflatables. In fact, probably best to leave all swimming related activities until later ; this is after all, an operating theatre."
He paused in his theatrics, looking over to the anaesthetist.
"Shall we begin?"

More soon! xxx