A/N: WOW! I am so happy and thankful to BJMccoy, Kymby, Joel Shell, Lillepus and Elena! You don't realize how much your continued interest means to the writing process! It's incredible!
At the sound of his office door clicking closed behind him, Charles let out a loud sigh, his body noticeably withering beneath his white coat. Maintaining an air of calmness when he was anything but was utterly exhausting. How long must he keep up this charade? It certainly seemed to be having an immediate, potent effect on Margaret.
Charles glanced at the phonograph on his floor and silently snarled at it. The foremost way to prove his recovery to Margaret was to voluntarily listen to music. There would be no denying his return to normalcy if she happened to hear Mozart while walking by his office. Perhaps she would even feel the urge to stop by and address such an important milestone.
He could hear himself swallow as he placed the phonograph on his desk and plugged it in. This would be very difficult but he would only have to play the music for a short time based on the moment Margaret would be leaving the O.R. after closing. Sighing, he slid a Mozart record out of its sleeve, a second Mozart album that had been purchased by the department. He read the label: Piano Concerto No. 21 in C, II, Andante, and placed the stylus on the first groove.
Sitting back down at his desk, Charles lowered his head into his hands and shut his eyes as the music began, the smooth strings swelling over the staccato backdrop, the horns and woodwinds joining in to render the song first into sadness and then returning to the original theme.
The music did not make him think so much about Korea at the moment, but about the esplanade and his threat to kick his own family's phonograph into the river for daring to play Tchaikovsky. Oh, how many times he had misstepped with Margaret these past several days! It was a sheer miracle that she'd decided to subject herself to more of it by working in his department. Perhaps Margaret was correct in choosing the bespectacled ginger nerd with a penchant for puns and flowery praise.
Charles's feigned composure at present was little more than a scab that had formed over the wounds to his ego, the wounds inflicted by Margaret on Friday. And yet it secretly thrilled him that Margaret was disconcerted by his behavior. As much as it pained him to do so, perhaps continuing this façade would intrigue Margaret enough to attempt follow-up with him while disregarding Clyde in the meantime.
The knock at his door gave him a jolt, a burst of energy as he pictured the expression on Margaret's face as she realized he was indeed improving, with or without her.
"Come in," he called out, a little smile already settling onto his face, glancing over at the spinning record on the turntable and the spell it had conjured.
"Ah, Charles," Daniel Jackson said, having opened the door to reveal it was only he who had come to call. Charles's smile immediately fell into a thin flat line. "I'm so happy to hear you making use of your phonograph," Dan continued. "I was actually a bit worried that something was wrong with it."
"As you can see, it's perfectly fine," Charles began, forcing the grin back onto his face, "and so am I."
"So good to hear. By the way, I've heard great things about the new hire, Margaret Houlihan," Dan commented. "Many of the surgeons in the department are impressed by her skills and intuition. Dr. O'Rourke in particular is so impressed with her that he has specifically requested her to assist in his surgeries."
"Is that right?" Charles muttered, frowning. "I did not realize we surgeons had any say in the choice of our nurse. I figured that was left to the nursing supervisors."
"Well, I will say it's a bit unusual, but Major Houlihan is easily the best nurse in the department now. Anyway, I'll let you get back to your music. I just wanted to tell you what a good choice you made in encouraging her to apply to work here."
A full of tray of food on the table in front of him in spite of his churning stomach, Charles thought about the doggedness of Clyde in specifically requesting Margaret to assist him in his procedures. Did that mean she didn't have a say in who she would be working with on any given day? It infuriated him to think that Margaret was literally being stolen from him by a poorly-dressed myopic leprechaun who seemed to be glad to take advantage of the lack of concrete hospital employee regulations to charm his way into her heart.
Charles gritted his teeth, steeling himself the moment he saw Margaret entering the hospital cafeteria at lunch. Would she opt to sit with him? It was a blessing that Clyde O'Rourke was nowhere in sight. No other physicians could be seen in the cafeteria. As she walked over to the salad bar, Charles pulled out some papers from his briefcase and stared at them intently while eating his baked fish filet, hoping to look sufficiently busy.
"May I join you?" a female voice asked. Charles had to actively suppress the smile that had instantaneously materialized on his face at the sound of her voice.
He peered up with mock surprise at the face of Margaret, who was looking at him and his paper with great concern.
"Certainly, Margaret," he replied amiably, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Margaret set her tray on the table and, ignoring her food, locked eyes with Charles as she sat down on her chair.
"We need to talk about Friday."
"What is there to discuss?" Charles said, his expression mildly amused as he shrugged. "I am now fully aware of my standing, and I have you to thank for that. So, thank you, Margaret for your clarification."
She rolled her eyes in reply.
"I already told you, it wasn't a date. I don't know why you ran out of there so fast. You didn't even give me a chance to—"
"I didn't want him to see you and I together," he interrupted. "Unlike him, I am not willing to risk my reputation in being spotted in such… intimate settings with a coworker, no less."
"Ah, but falling asleep in public together is totally appropriate, am I right?"
"That was before you'd even applied for the job," he murmured. "Ergo, we were not coworkers."
Now Charles looked down at his food and continued to eat, saying not a word more. He could sense in his peripheral vision that Margaret was gaping at him. She'd not yet touched a bite of her food, whereas he had begun happily shoveling food into his mouth in an effort to conceal the uneasy churning of his guts.
"Just be honest with yourself, Charles!" she finally blurted. "I could see how upset you were when you saw him. I wish I could have talked to you this weekend about it but you—"
"But I what?" he shot back, his composure cracking. "By not leaving your address or phone number, it was made abundantly clear to me that I was not to contact you—hence, I did not."
"I'm sorry for that," she murmured. "It was a mistake not to leave you my new address. My phone hasn't been connected yet."
Charles gave a low grunt in reply, but said no more, turning his attention back to his lunch while tucking the paper back into the briefcase. He could tell that in spite of her apology, Margaret was not currently writing down her address for him, and was instead staring at him with growing irritation. His stomach was now doing flip flops at the tension of the situation and if he continued to put food into his body, his discomfort would soon evolve to full-fledged nausea.
"Really?!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Is that all you're going to say?!"
"In fact, it is," he replied, feigning nonchalance.
She could only gape at him now, shocked at his ability to turn off all of his emotions. How had he gone from the very picture of misery to utter aloofness?
"Well, I should be getting back," he stated after a couple more minutes of tense silence, finishing his last bite of fish filet. "I have next week's schedule to finalize." With that, he abruptly stood up and gave her a little bow of the head. "Margaret."
On Tuesday morning, Charles stood sweating in his white surgeon's cap, his frown ever deepening under the hot lights of the O.R. as he stood next to Nurse Brown. So apparently Clyde O'Rourke's request to the nursing supervisor carried more weight than he thought it would.
"Clamp," he growled, Nurse Brown immediately complying but handing him the wrong one.
"Kelly clamp," Charles sighed, handing the clamp back to her as he spoke.
What were Margaret and Clyde speaking about at present in the O.R. next door? Perhaps Clyde was busy filling her head with compliments and promises he didn't intend to keep. Clearly the man was a Valentino, a Romeo, and a Lothario all rolled into one. Perhaps Clyde was currently ooing and aahing patronizingly at every movement of Margaret's hands, or praising her like she was some idiot dog fetching the correct instrument for him. The most disappointing aspect of all of this was that Margaret was very open to this kind of false praise, and was certainly lapping up any and all compliments with great enthusiasm as she fell deeper and deeper for its source.
It was all so disgusting that it was all he could do to force himself to concentrate on his current patient. Why had Clyde's request taken precedent over his own well-established prior working relationship with Margaret? Did this damn nursing department not realize the importance of scheduling optimized pairings of surgeon-to-nurse?
There would be no disappointment like this again. As soon as this procedure was ended, he was marching himself down to the nursing supervisor, prepared to use the power of his position, his credentials, and even his surname to influence their future scheduling decisions. He had just acquired Margaret for himself and he would not be letting some disingenuous little twerp steal her away from him.
At his hiatal hernia repair on Wednesday, Charles stood under the bright lights of the O.R., having already scrubbed and inserted his hands into his surgical gown. Within a minute or two, he felt the back of his surgical gown being fastened together and turned his head to glance behind him. Margaret was his once more, and more importantly, was not working with Clyde today on his procedure happening simultaneously next door. Apparently Charles's well-timed visit to the nursing supervisor following his shock yesterday had paid off quite well.
"Morning, Margaret," Charles muttered smilingly, as the blonde nurse proceeded to glove him. Margaret was already masked but he could tell by her eyes that she was ill at ease. Had Clyde told her of his specifically requesting her to accompany him in surgery? It was more likely than not.
Charles tied his mask and moved to stand next to his patient, looking over at Margaret now. He could sense a silent sigh as she promptly handed him a scalpel.
"'Kyu, Margaret," he said, his smile growing behind his mask. He'd ensured that Tuesday would be the last day the Irish surgeon attempted to seduce Margaret away from him. A surgical paradise would once again be his, Clyde O'Rourke be damned.
Whistling merrily, Charles strolled into Friday afternoon's staff meeting, an enigmatic grin on his face, the stack of postoperative reports under an arm.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he announced, accompanying his greeting with a stately bow of the head. His smile ever-present, he placed the stack of reports on the table in front of him and glanced out at the six men already in the room. Dr. Baker looked grave as usual, Dan Jackson was smiling warmly, and Clyde O'Rourke was fidgeting in his seat. Little did the bold Clyde know, but Charles had made a special trip to the nursing supervisor on Tuesday to make his own requests after hearing the news from Dan Jackson. The schedule Charles had put together for the beginning of next week would ensure that Margaret would in fact not be working with Clyde at all.
With a jolly air, Charles began his summary of the week's procedures, pausing briefly on Tuesday's procedure with Margaret and Dr. O'Rourke.
"I see here, Clyde, that your lobectomy on Tuesday lasted a mere two hours. Normally these procedures go well into the afternoon. Any particular reason for the expeditiousness?"
"I was working with Nurse Houlihan," he replied, grinning. "I'm sure you realize how much smoother surgery goes with her there."
"And yet," Charles retorted, "this is not meatball surgery, my good man; we must take our time to ensure the standard of care is met. Haste makes waste, especially when it comes to delicate operations such as this."
Clyde could only peer up at Charles with an air of frustration. And yet, as Dr. Winchester was his superior, he had to reply deferentially.
"Right, Sir. It won't happen again."
"Rest assured, I am certain that it will not," Charles agreed, his accompanying smile both offering encouragement to Clyde and yet hiding something more. You'll be lucky to ever work with Margaret again, Valentino, he mused, lifting up the next report.
"So, Dr. Baker, I understand you performed an emergency aortic dissection repair on Wednesday. A very difficult case, as the patient's condition was too far-gone to save."
"Yes, unfortunately that was the case," Baker commented, grimacing. "I am not certain what could have been improved to have altered the outcome."
"Who was your nurse?" Charles said, flipping through the report. "Nurse Hays, I do believe."
"Yes. Her assistance was adequate."
"I should like to ensure our new nurse and her substantial experience in trauma will be available to assist you in cases of that nature."
"Are you referring to Nurse Houlihan?" Baker said, the grumpy look on his face seemingly permanently etched there.
"Yes, I am. Is that a problem?"
"No," Dr. Baker replied. He could not even manage a smile, which thrilled Charles to no end. He had given it much thought these past few days and had decided that Dr. Harold Baker was the perfect alternative for Margaret's surgical assignments for those days that Charles was not scheduled. Margaret did not seem to like Dr. Baker very much, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Not only that, but Charles couldn't help but recall Margaret's romantic inclinations for tall men. Harold Baker, the incredibly short, grave surgeon with the comically large ears, was a valid alternative.
The moment Charles announced that he and Clyde would again have overlapping times and dates for their scheduled procedures, Clyde did not gape at him as he had last Friday, and instead grinned. Little do you know that I have beat you at your own game, Charles mused, smiling right back at him.
For the afternoon surgical sessions, Charles made sure to fill Monday and Tuesday with the other surgeons in the department. Thankfully decisions on future procedures were typically staggered throughout the week and perhaps Clyde would not notice the pattern that was very soon to be established. Clyde would always be scheduled at the same time as either Charles or Harold Baker, ensuring that his growing bond with Margaret would be halted in its tracks.