THE NIGHTINGALE JOURNALS

A/N: A special happy birthday shout-out for Twilight Mundi, whose birthday is TODAY, March 26th. All my best wishes for a lovely day, my dear friend; you are the smartest, funniest, most loyal naughty librarian I know. :)

I make reference to an NST in this chapter. It stands for Nursing Station Technician. In the PICU, they act as a nurse's aide. They bring us supplies, answer the phones, and help us do things like weigh patients. They are an invaluable part of our ICU, and they make our lives much easier.

Things I own: A ridiculous Cheshire Cat grin that I can't seem to wipe off of my face.

Things I don't own: Anything Twilight. It all belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Thanks to my beta, Trinity/TFX, who makes everything beautiful. Lupin4Tonks is responsible for making my grammar impeccable, for which I am eternally grateful. Ladyeire72 keeps the technical stuff from becoming dry and boring. I am so lucky to have these three lovely ladies on board with me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: TO SLEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM

It's been days since I had a good night's—or good day's, rather—sleep, and I feel like the walking wounded. Caffeine just isn't cutting it anymore. What's worse is that I'm in charge tonight, and I feel like I was run over by a truck while I slept. It's always like that when Edward and I are on different schedules. I'm amazed at how quickly I've become used to sleeping with him.

To say that our lives have been turned upside down would be the understatement of the century. We were completely unprepared to face the Fourth of July fireworks let off when Lauren Mallory was found dead.

Her death was so unexpected that Edward and I couldn't even discuss it at first. It seemed completely surreal. Once I actually digested the information, my disbelief quickly turned into frustration. Not long afterward, my frustration turned into anger. It is epicly unfair that she will never be held accountable for what she did. I guess when you're addicted to opiates, though, overdosing is always a possibility. None of us were really surprised to find out that she simply got the dose wrong; it happens all the time when you increasingly need a higher dose to chase the high your nerve endings crave.

Since then, Jessica Stanley has been a surprising wealth of information. She was lucky enough to have an alibi for the night Lauren died; turns out she was sleeping with a med student. It's probably the one time in her life when that could be considered a wise choice. The story that she has consistently stuck to is that she was upset by the fact that Lauren was getting away with stealing narcs, so she decided to speed the discovery process along. At first, the review board wanted to charge both of them equally, but since Lauren died, Jessica is the only one who knows the truth. Instead of losing her job and going to jail, like she would under normal circumstances, Jessica is on probation with the hospital. She has to do random drug testing for the next year. She can't dispense any type of controlled substance, and she now has to work on a general care floor. If you ask me? She got off easy. She was abetting Lauren for over a year, it seems, and it feels like she merely got slapped on the wrist.

Unfortunately, Jessica decided to share the whole story with me. I didn't want to know the specifics, because I knew it would just make me angry, but she went right ahead and told me anyway.

"I was so tired of seeing her get away with stealing. It was so wrong! At first, Lauren wanted to see if she could get away with it. She was pissed that everyone had such a cavalier attitude about handling narcs, and she wanted to show off the gaping holes that are in our narcotic protocol. Like, she got off on that challenge, you know?

"She ended up with a huge stockpile of the stuff, because at first, she never meant to do anything other than steal them without getting caught. After a while, she decided to use some of it, once in a blue moon. The first time was when we went to a party, but I'm pretty sure she never expected to get to the point where she needed to take it. Before I knew it, she ramped up her use, she started getting sloppy at work, and it was becoming a problem.

"I knew about it, even though I never asked her to share this secret with me. She was my roommate and my best friend—how could I have denied my knowledge? No matter what, I would be implicated along with her, but she still needed to be stopped. It was getting out of hand."

"But Jessica, why the hell didn't you go through the formal channels to get help for Lauren? What you did, it makes no sense! You've been implicated, and you're being investigated! At the very least, you're going to end up on probation. You're probably going lose your license. I mean, you've committed a prosecutable offense! Lauren isn't even around to refute or affirm your version of the story."

"I'm not stupid, Bella. I know that you think I am, but I'm not. The culprit ended up getting a taste of her own medicine. I pointed them in the right direction. I'm confident that I won't get fired."

"I don't share your level of confidence, but I guess you'll just have to wait and see how it all plays out. When are they going to deliver their verdict?"

"Dr. Cullen told me I should know in about a week."

"Look, I have to run to the bed meeting… see you around."

"Bella?"

I looked at her with impatience; I was already late for my meeting. "Yeah?"

"Um, thanks. You know, for everything. I might be dead if it wasn't for you and Edward."

Was she fucking kidding me? As if I would have let her die?

"There was never any question of not helping you, Jess. Don't forget that. I'm just sorry that Lauren decided you needed to be kept in line in such a dramatic fashion."

"Yeah, well, she was pretty fucked up by then, and more than a little paranoid. She wasn't thinking clearly. I don't really think she meant to do me in."

I wasn't so sure I shared Jessica's optimism, but the point was moot now.

"I guess it really doesn't matter anymore. I've got to run."

The sound of my phone ringing startles me back into the present.

"This is Bella Swan."

"Hey Bella, do you have a few?" Kitty asks.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"I need to run some stuff to the downstairs lab. Is there any way you could watch my patient?"

"Can't the NST run it down?"

"He's busy, and I need to explain these cultures to the lab tech."

I glance at my watch; there's enough time before I need to send the census report to Admissions.

"Sure. I'll be right in."

Kitty is watching one of my favorite patients, a four-year-old named Sophie. The poor thing has an autoimmune disease called dermatomyositis; her immune system attacks her muscles, making her extremely weak. She's what we call a Frequent Flyer in the PICU—kids who have chronic diseases that ensure they'll have ongoing ICU stays throughout their childhood. She recently had a slew of her internal organs removed because they were so inflamed she was in constant pain. The healing process for autoimmune patients can be unbearably long, however, and Sophie has been with us for over a week. We can't seem to get a grip on her pain.

Pain can be kind of an enigma. Some health care professionals refer to it as the sixth vital sign. As nurses, we are constantly assessing a patient's pain level. One of the reasons we're so obsessive about it is that research has shown that when pain is well controlled, patients heal more quickly.

The problem with that view, however, is that many doctors are rather stingy in prescribing pain meds for their patients. In fact, it can be a constant battle between doctors and nurses. In their training, doctors consider pain to be a neurologic response. They aren't wrong—it is, but it's also an emotional response, which makes it very subjective. Nurses treat it as part of the disease/healing process in addition to being neurologic. Therein lies a fundamental difference between the care doctors provide versus that of nurses.

Poor little Sophie is presently caught in a pain cycle. If you don't treat pain early and swiftly, it continues to ramp up, and you end up chasing the pain in an attempt to get it under control. In essence, the worse your pain becomes, the harder it is to control. We always try to be very proactive in treating pain, but sometimes it doesn't work. We've been trying desperately to help Sophie find her happy spot, but we've only been marginally successful.

Sophie's been having trouble sleeping this week, so I've been called upon to read to her, or watch her favorite princess videos. From the information Kitty gave me, I know that she can't have any more pain meds for another hour, so I decide to use a distraction technique to keep her pain at bay.

"We have Snow White, The Aristocats, or Beauty and the Beast. What'll it be, kiddo?"

"Snow White."

"Are you sure? That queen is pretty scary."

Sophie is on some strong pain medications, which can cause hallucinations. The Evil Queen could be wicked intense. She crosses her arms and huffs at my question.

"I know dat, Bewwa. I wanna see it."

I hold back my laughter at her response. Her speech impediment always makes me think of the wedding in The Princess Bride: "Mawwiage."

"Okay, then, Missy. Here you go."

"But my name is Sophie."

"I know, sweets. I was just kidding with you."

I sit down next to her bed, holding her hand as we watch. I understand the importance of Snow White for its groundbreaking innovations in the animation industry, but I've always hated the movie. The dwarves disturb me, and Snow White is just so… prim and proper. I don't trust anyone who's that happy, regardless of the fact that she's just a cartoon.

"I hate Snow White. She reawwy bodders me." Sophie's proclamation startles me; it's almost like she was reading my mind

"Because of how she acts, or because of who she is?"

"Bofe. She's disturbing." Dang, she is reading my mind!

I'll tell you what's really disturbing, Sweet Pea. It's Snow White hanging out with seven old dwarves…

My thoughts are interrupted by Jasper.

"Swan, I need your help."

I turn to look at Sophie. "I need to talk to Jasper, all right Soph? Miss Kitty will be back any minute. I'll just be standing right in the doorway."

She looks at me with some concern, but then grabs her blankie for comfort. "I'ww be awwright," she tells me with a sigh.

For a moment, it kills me that a four year-old has to be so brave and bear so much. If I stop and ponder the matter, I'll be in trouble. I've let myself get too attached to Sophie over the years. I recognize the warning signs. I need to step back, or I will be crushed when she leaves us permanently. There's no question that she will, because of her illness, it's just a matter of how long we'll get to enjoy her while she's here. I take a deep breath to let go of the thought, and turn to focus on Jasper.

"What's up, Jazz?"

"Cope gave me the post-op erection kid."

He's referring to a 15 year-old who had spinal surgery to remove a tumor. In the OR, they nicked a nerve near his spinal cord, and it left the kid with a raging erection. If it doesn't self-resolve within four hours, he'll need to go back to the OR to have his penis drained of blood. Every male on the floor is acutely aware of this poor guy's situation.

"You're complaining to me about your assignment?"

"No, of course not. It's just that I'm in the room next to the staff bathroom."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" I ask, impatiently.

Jasper's face already looks apologetic. This can't be good.

"Bella, I swear to god, the resident smells like shit tonight."

"I so do not have time for your poop conspiracies right now, Jasper Whitlock."

"No, I mean he literally smells like crap."

"I still don't have time. Deal with it."

"Uh, he clogged the toilet."

"He fucking what?"

"He clogged the toilet. It overflowed."

I look up at the ceiling and sigh deeply. "Please tell me this is an April Fool's joke or something."

"It's the middle of July, Swan."

"I know, dammit. Did you tell the NST?"

"He's on his break."

"Perfect. Fine, I'll page environmental services. Can you hang a sign on the door?"

Fuck my life, if this is the kind of shift I'm going to have.

A thought occurs to me, and I start to snicker. I can't help it, and the snicker turns into outright gigglesnorts. Jasper looks at me as though I've lost it. In between gasps, I choke out, "Oh my god, Whitlock—the shit has literally hit the fan."

We giggle uncontrollably together for a few moments then gather our wits. We're back in PICU mode before anything serious happens.

Yep, this is definitely one of those nights.

~XxX~

Ten hours later, I'm walking in the front door of Edward's loft—no, wait… our loft—and I'm so tired all I want is to collapse into bed. It was a grueling, shitty night. Literally. I start to giggle to myself for no reason whatsoever, which is how I know that I'm exhausted. I don't want to delay getting into bed by an additional second if I can help it.

As usual, Edward was absolutely right about our living together. The fatigue, the grueling patients, the stress of work, are all washed away when we're finally alone in our loft. Every kiss melts my sadness, every touch eases the weariness in my bones. He's my happy place, and I never before realized how badly I needed one.

We started a routine the first time we arrived home following a shift. It's simple, really, but the most effective stress relief I've ever found—we shower together. There's something about naked bodies moving together in the warm wetness that is so relaxing. It's so much more than just sex. When Edward washes my hair, my body, the intimacy is perfect. He treats me with such care and love, it's as if I can feel it pouring off of his body onto mine. Plus, there's the added bonus of getting to see Edward all wet. I'm not sure if there is anything more appealing on this planet than a wet Edward Cullen.

I make my way to the bathroom, where I quickly brush my teeth and wash my face. I notice a wet sensation between my legs, but it isn't a pleasant "Oh, Edward must be within 5 miles of me" type of wetness, it is a "Fuck, I'm pretty sure that's my period" sensation. I go to the bathroom and confirm it's a bad wetness, not a good wetness. I don't need to hassle with this right now, dammit!

I realize that, in my busyness, I left my Diva Cup in too long, and it's starting to leak. I sigh deeply and grab a spare. I make quick work of changing it out and washing up. The good news about wearing scrubs is that blood washes right out of them. I hang up my washcloth to dry, then make my way to Edward's bed. I stop and correct myself, again. Our bed. The thought puts a grin on my face.

Edward Cullen—and I—own the most comfortable bed in the world. It is a king-sized, TempurPedic mattress with the softest sheets and an incredible down duvet. It would be criminal to wear any sort of clothing in this bed. Every time I sneak under the covers, my skin is happy. The feeling is sublime. But that isn't even the best part—the bed also comes equipped with the best body pillow I've ever had: Dr. Edward Cullen himself.

For some reason, the minute I snuggle into his warm body, the last thing I have on my mind is sleep.

No wonder I've been so fucking tired lately. I can't keep my hands off my own pillow.

I grin at myself again, because really, if Edward Cullen is in your bed, you really don't want to waste any time on sleep. It's not like I can help it, after all. I'm a warm-blooded, sexually active American girl.

Very sexually active, thank you very much.

I give in to my senses, and slowly slide down Edward's body.

EPOV

I feel the sensation before my sleeping mind can process exactly what's happening.

Warm.

Wet.

Fuck.

I open my eyes to see one of my favorite sights in the world—Bella Swan, with her lips wrapped around my cock.

Good morning.

There's nothing quite like being awakened from a deep sleep by a morning BJ. I ask myself this numerous times a day: Could I possibly love this woman more than I already do? The answer is always the same.

No fucking way.

It's not just that I love to be awakened with a blowjob, it's that Bella treats my cock like a precious gem. You can tell how much she loves holding it, stroking it, sucking it.

Oh my fucking god, how she's sucking it!

Once I'm fully awake, my hands are instantly wrapped in her hair. The minute she feels my touch, her beautiful eyes look up at me.

Oh yeah, just got harder.

She starts to moan around my cock, and there are no words to describe how fucking amazing it feels. When you're already in heaven, and everything is perfect, what can you possibly say when, suddenly, everything becomes more perfect? See? No words.

I'm gone about 30 seconds after her moan. She swallows everything I give her, just like she always does. It's still so amazing to me that we're perfectly compatible sexually. With other women, once the novelty of a new partner wears off, it seemed like their interest in having sex waned. Bella? Swear to god, she'll willingly give me any orifice on her body. Not only that, but she'll give it to me several times a day.

Have I mentioned how much I love this woman?

Bella Swan is a goddess, and she is worshipped by every cell in my body. It's time for me to show her exactly how much I worship her. I pull her on top of me and her body tells me good morning. My body tells her, "Thank you so fucking much for the beej. My cock will be happy for hours."

I turn her over, fully intending to explain with my body what a great morning it is. My lips continue the conversation with hers while my hands drift down and give her barbells a little tweak. She lets a gasp escape and I can't hide the smile on my face. She slaps my ass in retaliation. I use that as my cue to move the train southbound.

I spread her legs widely and carefully part her lower lips. Her pussy is the perfect shade of pink and so incredibly beautiful. It's like the universe knew that such a beautiful goddess deserves an equally sublime pussy. She's already soaking wet and her clit is waiting for me. If I'm not mistaken, it may have even given me a wink just now.

Hell fucking yes.

I slide my fingertip over her slit as I marvel at the wonder that is female genitalia. Everything about it invites me in. Her smell, her taste, her color—I crave it. Jesus, I'm done savoring the view. I need her right now.

I start outside and work my way in. I love her bare pussy; it conveniently allows me to explore every nook and cranny. I pay attention to the skin along the fold of her thighs, the part that gets hidden every time she stands up. It's highly sensitive, and most guys have no clue how much of a turn on that area can be. When I get done licking her there, I blow over her, and watch her skin react to the change in temperature. Her gasp lets me know I'm on the right track.

I move on to the first crease in her pussy, the labia majora. Ever so gently, I nibble along the outer lip, from bottom to top. I slip my tongue around the hood of her clit, but never touch her where she wants me the most, and proceed to give the other side equal attention.

I go to her inner lips, sucking them into my mouth. With my lips covering my teeth, I bite down. It's soft, but there's still pressure, and my reward is an involuntary buck of her hips. I can taste her even more, now that I'm so close to her opening, and it makes my brain go haywire. I can't taste her even a little without wanting more. My tongue goes straight to the source, and before I know it, I'm lapping her up.

From the moment I awakened until now, we still haven't uttered a word out loud to one another. I'm amused by the fact that we don't need any words here, but we're still having a conversation nonetheless. This must be what it's like when you've found the person who was destined for you.

I can't stand to leave her clit alone anymore, so I dive right in. First I kiss it, then I use the tip of my tongue to circle around it. Then, and only then, I go in for the kill. I suck her clit into my mouth with as much force as possible, and then I bite down, gently.

"FUCK!"

That's what I'm talking about.

Okay, so I guess we do need a few words. I'm incredibly amused that the words we typically use are expletives; so far, our conversation this morning has been wordless or curse words. That's fine by me, because I still know exactly what's going down.

I start to thrust my finger into her pussy, when I feel her Diva Cup.

Damn, forgot about her period.

I remove my finger, and return my attention to her clit; no G-spot today, I guess. To make up for it, I suck, and bite, and lick her clit. I work her like she's never going to have a mouth on her pussy again—I'm giving her the full Cullenlingus treatment. It isn't long before she explodes, squeezing my head between her thighs, pulling my hair, and gasping. Seeing her come undone in front of me like this is my privilege alone—if I have my way, no one else will ever look at her this way again. Swan's pussy is all mine.

I pull the covers over our bodies and snuggle into her. I know she's probably exhausted with all that's been going on since Mallory OD'd, so I want to make sure she'll get some sleep.

"Do you need your earplugs, love?" I ask, kissing her forehead.

"Mmmm," she replies.

I hand a pair over to her. She puts them in without even opening her eyes. She's snoring by the time she tucks her hands under her pillow, which happens to be me. Not that I'm complaining.

I don't have to work until tonight, so I have time to lounge in bed with her. I fall asleep for a while, which is good, because we're both needing any extra sleep we can get.

~XxX~

I realize that when I asked Bella to live with me, it was very spontaneous. After what we've been through the last week, I want to make sure she knows how serious I am about her. Moving in with me is just one more step toward being together for the rest of our lives, and she needs to understand that.

I run around to each room, place a red tube in plain sight wherever I go. I need it to be ready when Bella wakes up.

When I reach the bedroom, I stop to watch Bella sleep for a few more minutes. She's at her most beautiful when she comes, but sleeping is a close second. She always looks so calm and peaceful, things that are so rare in her life in the waking world. As long as she always has a place where she can be calm and peaceful every day, I will be happy. Assuming that I'm there to enjoy it with her, of course.

I get down on one knee, so that my face is right in front of hers. I bend over and deliver my usual wake up call: A kiss to her forehead first, followed by gentle words to wake her up, and finish with a kiss to the lips. It makes me feel like Prince Charming every time I get to do this.

Her eyes flutter open in response, and she stretches out her naked form. I feel her arms wrap around me in a big hug, and she sighs contentedly in my ear.

"I love my Edward Cullen alarm clock. Best clock ever."

"I've never had anyone to wake up before, but I can promise you that I will be the best alarm clock I can be for as long as you'll allow me the honor."

I pull away from her, ready to begin.

Extending a tube of chapstick from my fingers, I begin. "I promise to provide a tube of chapstick in every room, as long as we both shall live. Together. I can't live without you anymore."

"You silly twit, I already said yes last week!"

If only she would say yes to the big question… give her time, Cullen. She needs to be eased into this.

"I know, but I wanted to make it official. If you go around the house, you will see your red chapstick tubes in every room."

"You mean you were serious? You really did leave chapstick for me, everywhere?"

"You can prove it to yourself, baby. It's all there."

"Okay, let's go on a chapstick expedition. We also need to get busy christening every surface in this flat, so that it's truly our place."

I'm so moved that I can't speak; I know my voice would fail me if I tried. I pull her into me, clinging to her. My body feels as heavy as lead and as light as gossamer all at once. The immense importance of this moment is not lost on me.

She pulls away from me slightly, so I can see her face. "But first, I need coffee, and I need Aleve. You know that I'm no good unless I'm caffeinated and medicated. Just saying."

"I beg to differ, Swan. You were very good earlier; that blowjob wake up call was superb. Just saying."

She punches me in the shoulder and pulls me toward the kitchen.

~XxX~

As I'm sipping my coffee, Bella is dancing with her ear buds in. She has five tubes of cherry chapstick in her hands and is singing to the playlist I made for her. She's on Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus. She's shaking her ass around, oblivious to the effect that it has on me. When she turns around and catches me spying on her, she makes her way over to me. With a sly smirk on her face, she reaches out and starts stroking my cock. How she could tell I was hard I have no idea; it must be like a sixth sense to her. I'm certainly not going to complain about it. I slip my hand over hers, and we stroke my cock in unison. I'm putty in her hands the minute her fingertips come into contact with the surface of my skin, no matter where it is on my body.

She sings to me, "I want my own, personal, penis. Someone to hear my prayers, someone who cares…"

Like this penis will ever belong to anyone else again. Can she not see that?

I pull one of her earbuds out. "Your personal penis is right here, Swan."

She giggles and jumps on me, wrapping her legs around my hips. "Dr. Edward…" she hesitates.

"What?"

"I don't even know your middle name," she pouts, adorably.

"It's Anthony."

"Dr. Edward Anthony Cullen, you are my happy place."

"Isabella Marie Swan…"

"How did you know mine?" she interrupts.

"Doesn't matter," I don't elaborate, or she might get creeped out to know I looked it up online when we were students. "Isabella Marie Swan, you are my happy place. This is why we needed to live together. No matter what happens, if I come home to my happy place, I'll always be fine."

"I love you, Dr. Cullen."

"And I love you, Nurse Swan."

She gives me a very sweet, loving kiss, on the chaste side. None of her tasty little tongue. The level of intensity of her kiss hardly matters, however, because she happens to have her pussy poised right over the cock she was stroking moments ago, and he is assessing the situation very closely.

"Um, Edward, we have to go to work," she states, her lips still on mine.

"My cock is holding you to the promises your body made earlier."

She groans into my mouth. "Please, please tell me you did not just quote a Scorpions song."

"I did not just quote you a Scorpions song."

"You so did."

"Well, you told me to say I didn't," I smirk at her. For added measure, I pull out the crimples.

"Oh, Cullen, you are pure evil, using the crimples to get you out of this!"

"Evil, yes, but still highly effective. The crimples success rate is close to 99.9%. And meanwhile, your personal penis awaits, just so you know."

She makes a little growling noise that is supposed to sound threatening, I think, but it just turns her into my angry little kitten. I love the angry kitten. She thinks she's so fierce.

She places her mouth over my ear and whispers, "You have five minutes, buddy, so get a move on it."

I fucking love this woman.

~XxX~

BPOV

I'm still tired, despite having enough caffeine flowing in my veins to power a small city. I'm awake, but I'm missing a level of sharpness and focus. The minute my patient arrives from the ER, however, I know my adrenaline will kick in, and I'll be able to get things done.

My patient tonight is a victim of head trauma. She and her family were getting ready to ride their bikes, when my patient realized that she forgot something in the garage. They didn't have the kind of garage door that would automatically stop when something was in its way, and it somehow closed over her head. Thank god she was wearing her bike helmet, otherwise she would never have made it past the garage door.

Head trauma is its own special brand of trouble. There is the initial insult, like a cracked skull, that does damage. No matter what the initial insult is, however, there is always secondary damage. If you hit your head during a fall, for example, and end up with a subdural hematoma, that injures your brain. The secondary effect of the hematoma causes your brain to swell, which can cut off blood supply and cause permanent brain damage, or even death.

Your prognosis improves or worsens based on a variety of factors, such as skull fractures, intracranial bleeding, and most importantly, intracranial pressure, or ICP. My girl has a closed skull fracture, meaning the broken bones aren't protruding through the skin. One might think that's a good thing, but it isn't. That's because her brain has started to swell. The more it swells, the higher the likelihood that brain tissue will be damaged due to lack of oxygen. We do all kinds of things to control ICP in order to save the brain, such as giving a patient steroids, or hypertonic saline solutions. My patient is coming straight from the ER, and neurosurgery is going to assess her once she gets here.

About five minutes after the ER called me to give report, Dr. Rosalie Hale, neurosurgeon extraordinaire, shows up. She is beautiful, brilliant, cold as ice and tough as nails. I've cried at work once, and it wasn't due to losing a patient; it was because of Dr. Hale.

Dr. Emmett McCarty has been chasing Dr. Hale for as long as I've known him. I can't believe he hasn't given up already, but the man is very tenacious by nature. Alice tells me a rumor, that McCarty has been bonking Hale for years, and I can't even imagine that it's true. She's just so cold… and mean. She might be perfect, but who would want to fuck her? She's like a praying mantis: She'll just tear you up and spit you out after she has her wicked way with you.

The neurosurgery group always moves in a herd; they certainly exhibit a herd mentality. Before the Nerd Herd moves from bedside to bedside for their morning rounds, however, the residents come by to check on the patient, so they can report back to the group. I always try to give the doctors from each specialty a rundown of systems based upon their expertise. For the neurosurgeons, for example, I focus on neurologic responses. Because I give good reports, I've caught the residents giving the Herd a report using my words, verbatim, on numerous occasions. It's a mistake the residents don't make more than once if they want to survive their neurosurgery rotation with Dr. Hale. I have more memories than I care to remember of her ripping a resident a new one because she busted them for rehashing my report:

If I wanted to know what the nurse reported, I would have asked her. You're going to need to come to better conclusions than that, I assure you.

As if dealing with Dr. Hale and the Nerd Herd isn't bad enough, it only makes matters worse that Dr. James McCullough works alongside Rosalie Hale. Since I work nights, I rarely have the displeasure of running into him, which is fine by me. It only serves to bring back unpleasant memories that I'd much rather keep repressed.

Tonight, however, we're graced by the presence of my two least favorite doctors on the planet because of my incredibly unstable head trauma patient. Not only are they my two least favorite docs, but also they both have an ego the size of Texas, and are constantly trying to outdo each other. There simply isn't enough free airspace in the PICU to entertain both of these docs at the same time. I'm tempted to throw my urologic ruler at them, but then I remember that Dr. Hale doesn't have a penis. She certainly does have a pair of balls, though; probably several, since her favorite pastime is removing balls from the residents who serve under her.

When the patient arrives, both Hale and McCullough swarm over the patient.

"Please let us get her transferred onto a regular bed first!" I hiss. It's the only language neurosurgery understands—hisses.

Naturally, neither one listens to me. I can't even get her hooked up to the monitor, because there are so many people at the bedside. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"Anyone who is not directly involved with getting the patient settled, step away from the bed. Now!"

Most everyone puts their hands up in the air and steps back. Most everyone except McCullough, of course. Par for the course with that asshole.

"McCullough, step back," I hear Edward warn.

Oh, shit. We haven't seen McCullough since I told Edward about our history. This could be bad.

He looks over at Edward, as though he just handed him a shit sandwich.

"I'm assessing the critically ill patient, Cullen! Per your request, I might add!"

"But you can't do that until the patient is on a bed and stable. So please, step back and let the nurses do their work."

McCullough gives him a look of ire, but does as he's told. Edward is going to hear about this—Fellows never tell Attendings what to do. Especially neurosurgeons.

Fuck. This is not good.

I try to catch Edward's eyes so I can instruct him to behave himself, but he's just glaring at McCullough, watching his every move.

Just as he's leaning over the patient, James' pager goes off. "Fuck!" He exclaims, looking at the page.

"Hale, I have to get this page. There's another one in the ER to deal with. I need you to take over here."

She nods, saying nothing. They switch places, and McCullough leaves, walking briskly.

Dr. Hale continues the silent treatment as she assesses the patient, which is fine by me; the fewer words she utters, the better.

"We'll need CNS checks every 15 minutes. Watch those pupils carefully. They are equal right now, but the right one is on the sluggish side. Her breathing is fine, but she may decompensate overnight. You'll need to page us immediately if there are any neuro changes. Do you understand?"

She looks at me like she's been explaining this to a kindergartener, and she's probably gone over my head.

Whatever. I can fucking deal with head trauma, Hale.

"Yes, I know what to do when a patient has head trauma. What pager number are you using tonight?"

She reads it off to me, then gives me McCullough's just in case. I roll my eyes inside, knowing that if I have to page him in the middle of the night, I will get an earful. As she is on her way out the door, she pauses for a moment.

"By the way, Swan? If you don't want your half-baked, knee jerk opinions known to the world, you shouldn't write a blog."

What the hell?

"How did you—did McCarty tell you?"

She gives me a sneer as she responds, "Who do you think told McCarty in the first place?"

"You started this?"

"You aren't a doctor, you're nothing more than a nurse who thinks she knows more than highly trained physicians. You made the wrong choice by taking on the blog. Someone had to set the record straight."

"But…why? What did I ever do to you?"

"What makes you think this is personal? If it were, I would need to have a vested interest in you, and I don't. Something wasn't right; it needed to be fixed, so I did what I had to do. Pure and simple."

With that, Dr. Rosalie Hale turns around, leaving me in her dust.

Aside from feeling as though I was just slapped in the face, I have one big, unanswered question: Why the hell is Rosalie Hale giving private messages to Emmett McCarty?

~XxX~

END NOTES: Thank you to 1918EC for the idea to "christen every surface" in Edward's loft.

"Personal penis" and hiding chapstick in every room are also reader ideas, but I cannot remember who gave them to me. If it was you, please let me know so I can give credit where credit is due. Thanks!

"I'm no good unless I'm caffeinated and medicated" is for MsKathy and Twilight Mundi.