DISCLAIMER: He's so fine, but he's not mine, and I'm not making one thin
dime. So if you sue, please bear in mind, you'll only waste your lawyer's
time.
A shout out to those who have left me feedback.you rock my world. Let's see if I can Rocket yours.
RL - not much writhing here, sorry to say. Wrap yourself in your email, and be patient.
He kept his word.
Elizabeth slipped quietly onto the surgical floor the next morning, catching an acrid whiff of disinfectant and the silent whisper of her scrubs and labcoat. The halls were empty. She made her way to the desk, checked the board. Corday/Anspaugh, Benton/Romano/Edson, Corday/Benton/Anspaugh.
Well, I'll be damned.
Her chest loosened a bit, and she was breathing much easier by the time she reached the scrub room. She checked her hair, secured beneath her surgical cap, and selected a sponge. Hitting the lever that would trigger the water with her thigh, she began to soak her arms. She was just working up lather when the door swung open. She jumped a bit, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.and sighed as Donald Anspaugh greeted her with a gruff, "Good morning, Dr. Corday."
"Good morning, Donald."
"Nothing like an aortic dissection to get the juices flowing in the morning, eh?"
"Well, I rather think our Mr. Henderson would prefer us indulging in a cup of coffee." Elizabeth laughed a little, chafing the sponge between her fingers. The elder surgeon began speaking once more, and she lifted her head to focus on his words.
.but was utterly distracted when she caught a glimpse of him, passing outside the scrub room door. Her swallow hitched in her throat. Why? Was it out of dread? Anxiety? Could it be. anticipation? She waited, breathless. Her mind began to race.
He'll close his hand around the door handle and pull, and his very presence will suck the air from the room. He'll make his way to a sink, that familiar, infuriating cocky stride. no man so short has any right holding his head so high.his bald head at that. And he'll start. "Lizzie!"
He passed the scrub room and kept right on going, his blue scrub coat billowing behind him.
Her held breath escaped in a- ?disappointed? Nonsense - whoosh. Anspaugh's droning voice returned to her ears.
"And, if all goes well, he should be stable in recovery before lunch. Elizabeth? Elizabeth!"
Her head snapped away from the window. "Of course, Donald," she spoke haltingly.
"Are you feeling all right?" Anspaugh's brow furrowed a bit.
"Absolutely," Elizabeth fixed him with a genuine smile. "Shall we to our patient?"
The procedure went well, if uneventfully. No caustic banter, no posturing or preening, just good old-fashioned teamwork. "How droll," she said to herself with a wicked little grin. Her pager sounded from her hip. The ER. Mark. Her step quickened a bit as she strode to the elevator.
She disembarked and moved quickly to the admit desk, where Randi directed her to curtain two. Sure enough, he was there, guiding his hands tenderly of the stomach of a frightened-looking young woman. "You mean you're going to have to cut me open?"
Mark saw he approaching and beamed slightly. "Well, here's the doctor who can tell us for sure. Dr. Corday, meet Jennifer."
"Rule-out appy?" Elizabeth took the chart. Mark nodded, and they huddled over the young woman together. After a few moments, she determined the young patient did not need surgery, and thought the girl would kiss her. Mark murmured something about getting a prescription and then he had her elbow, and was moving her towards the admit desk. "So I had this idea." He seemed quite excited. Elizabeth softened her expression, wanting his enthusiasm to sink into her. "There's a new restaurant near Wicker Park. We could go after your shift.I hear the pasta is amazing. And afterward."
"Hey, you, nurse! Where's the rule out triple A?"
His voice drilled into her head, spinning it on her neck. Gliding down the hall towards the trauma room, gold stethoscope glinting
(pretentious little bastard)
scrub coat billowing. He hit the doors at full stride, they opened agreeably. She knew Mark was still speaking, she could hear the drone of his voice in her ear. Yet she couldn't move her face from the window. Watching him through the blinds. Hands pressing stethoscope to chest, to throat. Fingers flipping nimbly through papers on the chart. The wrinkle of the bare forehead as he raised his eyebrows. Then said brows knit together, and he tossed some caustic remark out at the withering resident. Muscle and ligament flexing under skin as he slammed the bedrail into place. Doors slamming open - "Let's get him up to the OR."
And he was gone.
Elizabeth was breathing normally again. When had she stopped? And why? She turned her focus back to Mark, who was no longer speaking. Just regarding her with sad, rueful amusement.
"That guy really gets to you, doesn't he?"
"Mark, you have no idea." Elizabeth answered honestly.
"Well, I'll see what I can do about keeping him out of your hair. Like I said, tonight would be the perfect chance to put the finishing touches on your campaign for the trauma fellowship.."
Her ears perked up at that. The trauma fellowship - maybe her last chance to remain at County. Mark would help; he was a good friend. "I'd appreciate that.."
She returned to the surgical floor, needing to check on her patients in post-op. She pulled the door open and stepped inside, reaching for the chart at the foot of the first bed before she noticed.
He was hovering over a gurney, checking the pupils of a stroke patient. He called out a few observations for the nurse to make note of before tossing her penlight easily back to her. Elizabeth had to give proper credit - Romano was certainly in his element. She tended to her own patient silently, waiting for the shoe to drop.
It would start with him calling her name. That huge, robust "Lizzie!" that only he could muster. He never did pay much attention to the fact that he never once asked if he could address her as such. Presumptuous, arrogant, unapologetic. He would call out her name, and then he'd cross the room in his own unique gait, and the game would begin. What might he throw at her today? More chiding about wasting her talents on such a lowly ambition as trauma surgery? More gleeful dancing on the grave of her romance with Peter? Well, she'd always held her own in the past. Today would be no different.
Except that it was.
She lifted her attention from examining her patient just as Romano completed the evaluation of his. Their eyes met briefly, brown boring into blue. The corner of his mouth curled a bit...here it comes...
He gave a curt little nod and turned on his heel. In a whisper of gray linen trousers and white cotton labcoat, he was gone without a word
Well, that's a relief...
Elizabeth returned to her rounds, but a feeling of unsettling irritation gnawed its way into her stomach. Which only made sense. Within hours, she would know the fate of her career. She would be able to see her path with Mark a bit more clearly, and hopefully, so would he. She would be free to put together any kind of future she chose, and he would no longer have her under his thumb. Which was fine with her.
Completely fine with her.
A shout out to those who have left me feedback.you rock my world. Let's see if I can Rocket yours.
RL - not much writhing here, sorry to say. Wrap yourself in your email, and be patient.
He kept his word.
Elizabeth slipped quietly onto the surgical floor the next morning, catching an acrid whiff of disinfectant and the silent whisper of her scrubs and labcoat. The halls were empty. She made her way to the desk, checked the board. Corday/Anspaugh, Benton/Romano/Edson, Corday/Benton/Anspaugh.
Well, I'll be damned.
Her chest loosened a bit, and she was breathing much easier by the time she reached the scrub room. She checked her hair, secured beneath her surgical cap, and selected a sponge. Hitting the lever that would trigger the water with her thigh, she began to soak her arms. She was just working up lather when the door swung open. She jumped a bit, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.and sighed as Donald Anspaugh greeted her with a gruff, "Good morning, Dr. Corday."
"Good morning, Donald."
"Nothing like an aortic dissection to get the juices flowing in the morning, eh?"
"Well, I rather think our Mr. Henderson would prefer us indulging in a cup of coffee." Elizabeth laughed a little, chafing the sponge between her fingers. The elder surgeon began speaking once more, and she lifted her head to focus on his words.
.but was utterly distracted when she caught a glimpse of him, passing outside the scrub room door. Her swallow hitched in her throat. Why? Was it out of dread? Anxiety? Could it be. anticipation? She waited, breathless. Her mind began to race.
He'll close his hand around the door handle and pull, and his very presence will suck the air from the room. He'll make his way to a sink, that familiar, infuriating cocky stride. no man so short has any right holding his head so high.his bald head at that. And he'll start. "Lizzie!"
He passed the scrub room and kept right on going, his blue scrub coat billowing behind him.
Her held breath escaped in a- ?disappointed? Nonsense - whoosh. Anspaugh's droning voice returned to her ears.
"And, if all goes well, he should be stable in recovery before lunch. Elizabeth? Elizabeth!"
Her head snapped away from the window. "Of course, Donald," she spoke haltingly.
"Are you feeling all right?" Anspaugh's brow furrowed a bit.
"Absolutely," Elizabeth fixed him with a genuine smile. "Shall we to our patient?"
The procedure went well, if uneventfully. No caustic banter, no posturing or preening, just good old-fashioned teamwork. "How droll," she said to herself with a wicked little grin. Her pager sounded from her hip. The ER. Mark. Her step quickened a bit as she strode to the elevator.
She disembarked and moved quickly to the admit desk, where Randi directed her to curtain two. Sure enough, he was there, guiding his hands tenderly of the stomach of a frightened-looking young woman. "You mean you're going to have to cut me open?"
Mark saw he approaching and beamed slightly. "Well, here's the doctor who can tell us for sure. Dr. Corday, meet Jennifer."
"Rule-out appy?" Elizabeth took the chart. Mark nodded, and they huddled over the young woman together. After a few moments, she determined the young patient did not need surgery, and thought the girl would kiss her. Mark murmured something about getting a prescription and then he had her elbow, and was moving her towards the admit desk. "So I had this idea." He seemed quite excited. Elizabeth softened her expression, wanting his enthusiasm to sink into her. "There's a new restaurant near Wicker Park. We could go after your shift.I hear the pasta is amazing. And afterward."
"Hey, you, nurse! Where's the rule out triple A?"
His voice drilled into her head, spinning it on her neck. Gliding down the hall towards the trauma room, gold stethoscope glinting
(pretentious little bastard)
scrub coat billowing. He hit the doors at full stride, they opened agreeably. She knew Mark was still speaking, she could hear the drone of his voice in her ear. Yet she couldn't move her face from the window. Watching him through the blinds. Hands pressing stethoscope to chest, to throat. Fingers flipping nimbly through papers on the chart. The wrinkle of the bare forehead as he raised his eyebrows. Then said brows knit together, and he tossed some caustic remark out at the withering resident. Muscle and ligament flexing under skin as he slammed the bedrail into place. Doors slamming open - "Let's get him up to the OR."
And he was gone.
Elizabeth was breathing normally again. When had she stopped? And why? She turned her focus back to Mark, who was no longer speaking. Just regarding her with sad, rueful amusement.
"That guy really gets to you, doesn't he?"
"Mark, you have no idea." Elizabeth answered honestly.
"Well, I'll see what I can do about keeping him out of your hair. Like I said, tonight would be the perfect chance to put the finishing touches on your campaign for the trauma fellowship.."
Her ears perked up at that. The trauma fellowship - maybe her last chance to remain at County. Mark would help; he was a good friend. "I'd appreciate that.."
She returned to the surgical floor, needing to check on her patients in post-op. She pulled the door open and stepped inside, reaching for the chart at the foot of the first bed before she noticed.
He was hovering over a gurney, checking the pupils of a stroke patient. He called out a few observations for the nurse to make note of before tossing her penlight easily back to her. Elizabeth had to give proper credit - Romano was certainly in his element. She tended to her own patient silently, waiting for the shoe to drop.
It would start with him calling her name. That huge, robust "Lizzie!" that only he could muster. He never did pay much attention to the fact that he never once asked if he could address her as such. Presumptuous, arrogant, unapologetic. He would call out her name, and then he'd cross the room in his own unique gait, and the game would begin. What might he throw at her today? More chiding about wasting her talents on such a lowly ambition as trauma surgery? More gleeful dancing on the grave of her romance with Peter? Well, she'd always held her own in the past. Today would be no different.
Except that it was.
She lifted her attention from examining her patient just as Romano completed the evaluation of his. Their eyes met briefly, brown boring into blue. The corner of his mouth curled a bit...here it comes...
He gave a curt little nod and turned on his heel. In a whisper of gray linen trousers and white cotton labcoat, he was gone without a word
Well, that's a relief...
Elizabeth returned to her rounds, but a feeling of unsettling irritation gnawed its way into her stomach. Which only made sense. Within hours, she would know the fate of her career. She would be able to see her path with Mark a bit more clearly, and hopefully, so would he. She would be free to put together any kind of future she chose, and he would no longer have her under his thumb. Which was fine with her.
Completely fine with her.