Got another bunny for Working Stiffs. How about a plastic/cosmetic surgeon fed up with people wanting to improve their looks that don't need improving? UNCLE hires him where he does reconstructive surgery and scar revision. Don't know if you know this, but bad scars in the wrong place can hamper normal function of the involved body part. ME Priest

My grandfather was a surgeon, so was my father, his brothers and mine, so it was sort of already decided from birth what line of work I'd go into. Don't worry, I'm not knocking it. Thanks to some hard work and long hours, we had a nice home, went on lovely vacations and had what some people thought was the perfect lifestyle… except it really wasn't quite enough for me.

While Dad and my brothers happily plunged into the world of plastic surgery and beautiful people, I wanted something more.

After getting my degree, completely residency and fellowship and getting board certified, I spent a long time trying to figure what I wanted to do as opposed to what I needed to do. I had a position at my dad's practice, but boob and nose jobs didn't cut it. On a whim, I went to Africa and worked on some kids with cleft palates. That helped, but it still wasn't enough.

One day I was at the hospital cafeteria, trying to decide between chicken fingers and fish sticks when I saw a man struggling his tray. His right hand was clawed into a mass of scar tissue.

"Could you use some help?"

"NO!" There was a long pause. "Yes?"

I set my tray down and helped him get his to the cashier. I grabbed a salad and followed him to a table. "May I join you?"

"You rescued me, it's the least I can do."

For a few minutes we just ate, then I cleared my throat. "I'm a plastic surgeon. May I ask what happened?"

He looked up at me through blond bangs. "Misjudged a fuse and had a device go off prematurely." He dropped the hand to his lap. "Let's just say my boss wasn't impressed."

"May I?" I waited for his nod and then reached for it. It was warm and calloused and I examined the tissue. "You know, I should be able to reduce that scar tissue and give you back the use of your hand. Maybe not 100%, but close enough so that you could function. "Really?" There was such hope in his voice and a little bell went off in my head.

From that point on, I knew what I had to do. I eschewed the cosmetic fixes and began working on reconstructive cases entirely, always working toward restoring as much function as possible.

Then an elderly man knocked on my office door and my life changed for the better.

"How may I help you?" I immediately started to scan him for scarring. I found the lines and wrinkles of old age. I was about to launch into my spiel about how I didn't do cosmetic procedures when he smiled and held out a photo, handing it to me.

"Do you remember him?"

It was my friend from the cafeteria. "I do." I smiled and passed it back to him. "How is he doing?"

"Better than he or any of us expected. You impressed my boss considerably and he sent me to you with a proposal."

"I'm listening."

"In our line of business, we have a high incident of injuries. Many are not life threatening, but good men and women are sidelined because of scar tissue. We were wondering if you could do for them what you did for our Mr. Wilson."

"I don't know – what are we talking about - a day a week? Is there travel involved or would to patients come to my office."

"Something a bit more than that." And that's when I started working with UNCLE

They gave me a nice enough office and very good facilities. I was able to work with some of the best orthopedic surgeons the country had to offer. My role was simple and straight forward. When an agent sustained an injury that might threaten his gross or fine motor skills, I was called in. Sometimes it was a straight forward release of scar tissue, but there were many times that required multiple procedures followed by weeks of physical and occupational therapy. The agents always had a choice and more often than not, they wanted the solution that would get them back into the action. I didn't understand it, but there you have it. Some of these guys were so addicted to adrenaline, it was nearly impossible for them to sit still longer enough for the prognosis.

One summer afternoon, there was a soft tap to my office door and I looked up, happy for the distraction from the routine paperwork that seemed the backbone of every job.

The man who entered wasn't a stranger, not by a long shot. Illya Kuryakin was a fixture at the New York office. He had been in the Number Two slot for Section Two until his partner was moved to Section One, Number One. Now he struggled to keep up with younger and fitter agents and I did mean struggled.

His face was tight as he limped in and slowly eased himself down into a chair.

"Where's your cane?"

"I don't need it." There was a challenge in those blue eyes.

"What do you need?"

He dropped his hand to his lap and gently rubbed his hip. "Can you help me?"

"I don't know. I would need to examine you first."

He nodded. "When?"

"How about now?" I gestured to my exam table and he shook his head. "I can't help you if I can't see what I'm dealing with."

"I understand, Doctor, but there's no way I can get up there."

Understanding dawned on me and I wondered just how much guts it took to admit that to me. "How about my desk?"

"Manageable, I think."

It took me just a minute to clear it off and drape it with a white sheet. While I was doing that, Mr. Kuryakin started to disrobe.

Now, I'd heard rumors… lots of rumors about him, but nothing prepared me for the mess that was his hip. "What did they do to you?" I gasped as he stepped out of his underwear and eased himself onto the desk top. I helped him lie back.

"They saved my leg. That was about it."

I started to examine the masses of scar tissue. In some spots it was like a rock. I could tell he was dying a thousand deaths, so I tried to change the subject. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"Yes, but we had a small emergency. One of my grandchildren decided to roast his sister's dinosaurs. It was gruesome."

"And tough on the grill, too." I rolled him slightly.

"It was on its last legs. My son-in-law was using an old golf club and a garden gnome to keep it upright. Napoleon rescued the day with a new one"

Ah, our Number One. "I didn't know you had a family together."

He hissed as I hit a bad spot. "My daughter, Napoleon's son. Talk about a mismatched pair."

"I dunno. It sounds like fun to me. I have an overweight wiener dog for company."

"You want another one? I'm sure Chewy would be delighted."

"Chewy?"

"His best feature. It was either that or Puddles."

I laughed and helped him sit up. "I think I can help you, Mr. Kuryakin, but I need to know what you want out of this."

"Improved mobility. I know I can't keep up with our junior agents, but I don't want to be a boat anchor around Napoleon's neck either. I know he won't retire me unless I ask and there's still a few years left in me."

"I am not sure about Section Two, but I can get you to Section Three, no problem." He sighed and looked so sad for a moment. "And it'll be easier to keep up with your grandchildren."

"You just sold me."

"It won't be pleasant."

"My time in Medical never is."

I have to admit he wasn't the worst patient that I ever had, but he kept me on my toes. So did Mr. Solo. He was there all the time, even setting up a mini-office in Mr. Kuryakin's room so that he could do his job and not leave his partner, because have no doubt, they were still partners, alone.

Over his recovery, I got to meet their children and all the grandchildren as well. They were there nearly every day and I got used to finding an odd assortment of toys in bed with him. He was a grizzled old enforcement agent, but he was much luckier than most. He had a family, a real family.

I looked in on him and the room was empty except for him and a pink teddy bear that was nestled by his head. He looked dead to the world and I glanced at my watch. He'd just been given his pain medication, so he would be asleep for a few hours now. I knew he hated it, but I assured him it was necessary.

I picked up the teddy bear and smiled.

"It plays music to soothe savaged beasts or so Irina tells me." His words were slightly slurred.

"You're a lucky man. Mr. Solo is off to his meeting?"

"I hope so. He exhausts me taking care of him."

I grinned at that. "I suspect he sees it the other way around."

"He always does. He did want me to ask if you and your overweight wiener dog would like to come out for a barbecue one of these days."

"That would be fun. When?"

"How about after I'm out of this bed?"

"Then it could be as soon as this weekend."

"What?" His eyes opened at that.

"I'm springing you, Cowboy. Your daughter has assured us that she can take care of you at home."

He shook his head. "She already has too much on her plate."

"So, I'm sending along a nurse physical therapist. She'll come in for a few hours in every day to work with you and take care of whatever needs taking care of." I truly believe that people heal much better and faster in familiar surroundings… although with Kuryakin's medical history, this room was pretty familiar, too.

"That would be wonderful, Rebecca, thank you."

A few days later I was going through my mail and found a large manila envelope. It hadn't come through the post. I opened it and discovered why. It had several sheets of paper and homemade cards thanking me for making 'Poppy' better. Mixed among them was a note from Mr. Solo, inviting me and the wiener dog to a good old-fashioned backyard barbecue, the first of many.

I laughed and wondered what sort of wine would go well with melted dinosaur.