DISCLAIMER: I know what you're thinking..are these her characters, or
someone else's? Is she really going to take the property of NBC, WB, John
Wells, Jack Orman, & Michael Crichton and twist it to suit her own
imagination and thrill us, the Reading Public? Well, just ask yourself
this..
Do you feel lucky, punk?
Many apologies for a couple of editing kinks in the last chapter..hopefully they're gone by now.
I'm sure you all have opinions of this little work by now, so in regards to feedback:
Go ahead. Make my day..
PG - once again. Two words - pleasure delayer. Oh, you can take it...
TwoP lasses. there are shout out's here for you. Let's see if you can find 'em.
She was up to her ears, and still the tension was there.
Liquid bliss, the heady scent of jasmine, the soft *plip* of the bubbles as they popped around her face. And still, she could not relax. She took a deep breath and submerged. Silent whooshing, the quiet lubbing of her heart. and the vision of him.
Always him, lately.
Making her jaw clench, her hands ball into fists, and her stomach twine in knots. Her shoulders tensed at the sight of him. Her mind recoiled at the sound of his voice. And her knees.
The reactions were the same as they had always been. It was the motivation behind them that was different. She used to shudder at his approach because she feared he'd come striding up to her.
Now she was afraid he would pass right by her.
She used to dread seeing him, knowing he would find some excuse to talk to her.
Now she was afraid of his silence.
What the hell was happening?
She broke surface, swiping suds away from her face. Hands on porcelain, pushing her up, cold pinpricks of air on her skin as her body left the water. Rough terrycloth, soft silk, and she exited the steaming bathroom. She moved silently into the kitchen and selected a bottle of wine. Blood red swallowed by sparkling clear crystal, baptizing lips, tongue, throat, burning a path to her stomach. She crossed the room and cued up the stereo, scanning the FM range. Some bloody insurance commercial, the twang of some tragic Texas heroine, and an ad for a car dealership, some inane rambling from random DJ and the long slow moan of an oboe.
Her hand clutched the bowl of the glass...she knew what was coming..
"At laaaaaast.. my love has come along."
Her body swayed involuntarily to the music. Why should it be any different from the rest of her when it came to Romano? She cast her mind back to earlier that afternoon. Delicious fantasy. She sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, sighing at their linen embrace. She closed her eyes...
He had a new taunt in store for her.
He was there, in her mind's eye. Starched white lab coat hugging taut broad shoulders, stethoscope glinting smartly. Purple shirt cinched at the neck with purple satin tie. Arms crossed over chest, wisps of hair visible above the links of his watch. Regarding her with an amazing calm, a quiet detachment. A wry grin twisted his lips, and he shook his head slowly. Turned away. And vanished.
She nearly called for him aloud. "Don't go.."
Even in fantasy, the man could protect his ego.
And Elizabeth knew she would be gearing up for a new struggle with her own.
She had to admit, they made a pretty good team.
He was pompous and pretentious; she was professional and diplomatic. He gave her orders; she did pretty much as she pleased. And somehow, it worked. Their edges fit together quite nicely, and she actually found herself looking forward to seeing him every day, even anticipating his caustic little barbs. The day he asked her what she would pay for his sperm nearly doubled her over in laughter - would have, if not for Peter's presence in her office. She was so tempted to tell him to damn the sperm bank - that if she wanted what he had to offer, she'd get it the old fashioned way. And he would gladly give it for free.
God, how I would have loved to see the expression on his face. Shock? Delight? Hope?
She'd said nothing, of course. Simply folded her arms over her chest and set her face in her, "He's just being Robert," expression. Robert..
Yes, they made a pretty good team.
Not that it was all tea and roses. There were costs, concessions. Like being clustered away in that broom closet of an office. It was tiny and cramped and poorly lit.
But it was hers. Her office. The one ego-stroke she allowed herself. No personalized scrubs, no emblazoning monogram on her lab coat. Just her office. And even that one indulgence had gotten her into a sticky situation...
She could laugh about it now, thank God.
She had been so proud the day of her official moving in. A spot at County just for her. A retreat, a sanctuary where all others would need permission to enter. She lifted the telephone, dialed engineering with a flourish. "This is Doctor Elizabeth Corday up in surgery. I need you to send someone up her to stencil the door of my office." Her voice was the perfect mix of efficiency and enthusiasm. She sat and waited, but unfortunately, the OR beckoned. No problem. She picked up a pen and a piece of paper. It's simply a matter of leaving them a note, stating how the label should read. She taped the slip to the door and headed off to scrub.
The procedure had been tolerable enough, and she and Robert had bantered their way through it on an even keel. They finished, left a resident to close, and returned to the scrub room. Robert was blathering on about that morning's Emergency Services Committee Meeting, a favorite of his. He never missed a gleeful opportunity to throw a wrench into Kerry Weaver's business, Elizabeth noted silently, with a grin. One day, the woman was going to attempt to beat him to death with that crutch of hers. She only hoped she would be there to see it. But whose side would she take?
They left the scrub room and headed down the hall, Robert still speaking, she still barely listening. She was listing in her head the texts she would need to prepare for the next morning, and she only broke from that train of thought when she realized he had stopped short, just outside her office door. She glanced at him, and was struck by his expression. His eyes were fairly exploding with fireworks, and his lips were curled in a grin brilliant with mischief. It made her own lips twist in a half-smile, until she turned and saw the cause of his hilarity. She flushed to the roots of her hair, jaw dropping, eyes widening. The low chuckle from his throat resonated through her body.
"Well, Dr. Corday....I wasn't aware the hospital needed an Ass Chief," he paused, letting the tip of his tongue play at the corner of his mouth. "But if we must have one, I'm certainly glad it's you."
"Bloody Hell!!" She yanked the door open and stalked to her desk, snatching the phone from its cradle and assaulting the keypad. "Stupid, bumbling, ignorant, incompetent fools!"
Robert followed her inside casually, observing bemusedly as she barked into the receiver. "This is Elizabeth Corday, I need to speak to someone..no, don't you DARE put me on hold...damn!" She twisted the cord impatiently between her fingers. Romano picked up the work order that lay on the corner of her desk, glancing over it. Her note was stapled to the top left corner, and his grin widened in immeasurable delight. He opened the barrel and took aim.
"Well, Lizzie, I guess it's true what they say."
He handed her the paper, tapping one spot in particular.
"Bad things can happen if you skip a period."
Yes, there were costs. And not all of them were funny.
Mark.
She wanted so desperately to make a go of things with him. She'd spent so much of her life with men who were brooding, flighty, impulsive. Men whom she could see herself in. Vain ego trip - and it never worked. She ended up alone, sad, hurt, abandoned, and feeling used.
She knew it was time to grow up. She needed someone stable. Someone safe. Fireworks were not important. Spice and variety were not important. Friendship, warmth, affection, protection.
Mark.
She'd never told him about her dreams, her visions. She'd never uttered one word. And she didn't mean to spend all their time together defending her decision to take the position, nor defending Romano himself. But usually, that's exactly what ended up happening.
He would take her to dinner. They would discuss the events of the day. She would turn the conversation to movies, to music, to art, to politics.
He would gripe about Romano.
She would try to ignore it. Ask about Rachel. About David. About Michael Jordan.
He would ask how she could stand him, breathing down her neck. She would have to fight back images of that metaphor come to life. And he always seemed to take her hesitation so personally.
Well, it isn't my fault! He's the one who brings it up, always bringing it up. Chiding, criticizing, admonishing. The little jokes and sarcasms. Tired, trite, droll. At least Romano is witty. Charming. Engaging.
Comparing the boss to the boyfriend. Thin ice, Lizzie. Tread very carefully.
Do you feel lucky, punk?
Many apologies for a couple of editing kinks in the last chapter..hopefully they're gone by now.
I'm sure you all have opinions of this little work by now, so in regards to feedback:
Go ahead. Make my day..
PG - once again. Two words - pleasure delayer. Oh, you can take it...
TwoP lasses. there are shout out's here for you. Let's see if you can find 'em.
She was up to her ears, and still the tension was there.
Liquid bliss, the heady scent of jasmine, the soft *plip* of the bubbles as they popped around her face. And still, she could not relax. She took a deep breath and submerged. Silent whooshing, the quiet lubbing of her heart. and the vision of him.
Always him, lately.
Making her jaw clench, her hands ball into fists, and her stomach twine in knots. Her shoulders tensed at the sight of him. Her mind recoiled at the sound of his voice. And her knees.
The reactions were the same as they had always been. It was the motivation behind them that was different. She used to shudder at his approach because she feared he'd come striding up to her.
Now she was afraid he would pass right by her.
She used to dread seeing him, knowing he would find some excuse to talk to her.
Now she was afraid of his silence.
What the hell was happening?
She broke surface, swiping suds away from her face. Hands on porcelain, pushing her up, cold pinpricks of air on her skin as her body left the water. Rough terrycloth, soft silk, and she exited the steaming bathroom. She moved silently into the kitchen and selected a bottle of wine. Blood red swallowed by sparkling clear crystal, baptizing lips, tongue, throat, burning a path to her stomach. She crossed the room and cued up the stereo, scanning the FM range. Some bloody insurance commercial, the twang of some tragic Texas heroine, and an ad for a car dealership, some inane rambling from random DJ and the long slow moan of an oboe.
Her hand clutched the bowl of the glass...she knew what was coming..
"At laaaaaast.. my love has come along."
Her body swayed involuntarily to the music. Why should it be any different from the rest of her when it came to Romano? She cast her mind back to earlier that afternoon. Delicious fantasy. She sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, sighing at their linen embrace. She closed her eyes...
He had a new taunt in store for her.
He was there, in her mind's eye. Starched white lab coat hugging taut broad shoulders, stethoscope glinting smartly. Purple shirt cinched at the neck with purple satin tie. Arms crossed over chest, wisps of hair visible above the links of his watch. Regarding her with an amazing calm, a quiet detachment. A wry grin twisted his lips, and he shook his head slowly. Turned away. And vanished.
She nearly called for him aloud. "Don't go.."
Even in fantasy, the man could protect his ego.
And Elizabeth knew she would be gearing up for a new struggle with her own.
She had to admit, they made a pretty good team.
He was pompous and pretentious; she was professional and diplomatic. He gave her orders; she did pretty much as she pleased. And somehow, it worked. Their edges fit together quite nicely, and she actually found herself looking forward to seeing him every day, even anticipating his caustic little barbs. The day he asked her what she would pay for his sperm nearly doubled her over in laughter - would have, if not for Peter's presence in her office. She was so tempted to tell him to damn the sperm bank - that if she wanted what he had to offer, she'd get it the old fashioned way. And he would gladly give it for free.
God, how I would have loved to see the expression on his face. Shock? Delight? Hope?
She'd said nothing, of course. Simply folded her arms over her chest and set her face in her, "He's just being Robert," expression. Robert..
Yes, they made a pretty good team.
Not that it was all tea and roses. There were costs, concessions. Like being clustered away in that broom closet of an office. It was tiny and cramped and poorly lit.
But it was hers. Her office. The one ego-stroke she allowed herself. No personalized scrubs, no emblazoning monogram on her lab coat. Just her office. And even that one indulgence had gotten her into a sticky situation...
She could laugh about it now, thank God.
She had been so proud the day of her official moving in. A spot at County just for her. A retreat, a sanctuary where all others would need permission to enter. She lifted the telephone, dialed engineering with a flourish. "This is Doctor Elizabeth Corday up in surgery. I need you to send someone up her to stencil the door of my office." Her voice was the perfect mix of efficiency and enthusiasm. She sat and waited, but unfortunately, the OR beckoned. No problem. She picked up a pen and a piece of paper. It's simply a matter of leaving them a note, stating how the label should read. She taped the slip to the door and headed off to scrub.
The procedure had been tolerable enough, and she and Robert had bantered their way through it on an even keel. They finished, left a resident to close, and returned to the scrub room. Robert was blathering on about that morning's Emergency Services Committee Meeting, a favorite of his. He never missed a gleeful opportunity to throw a wrench into Kerry Weaver's business, Elizabeth noted silently, with a grin. One day, the woman was going to attempt to beat him to death with that crutch of hers. She only hoped she would be there to see it. But whose side would she take?
They left the scrub room and headed down the hall, Robert still speaking, she still barely listening. She was listing in her head the texts she would need to prepare for the next morning, and she only broke from that train of thought when she realized he had stopped short, just outside her office door. She glanced at him, and was struck by his expression. His eyes were fairly exploding with fireworks, and his lips were curled in a grin brilliant with mischief. It made her own lips twist in a half-smile, until she turned and saw the cause of his hilarity. She flushed to the roots of her hair, jaw dropping, eyes widening. The low chuckle from his throat resonated through her body.
"Well, Dr. Corday....I wasn't aware the hospital needed an Ass Chief," he paused, letting the tip of his tongue play at the corner of his mouth. "But if we must have one, I'm certainly glad it's you."
"Bloody Hell!!" She yanked the door open and stalked to her desk, snatching the phone from its cradle and assaulting the keypad. "Stupid, bumbling, ignorant, incompetent fools!"
Robert followed her inside casually, observing bemusedly as she barked into the receiver. "This is Elizabeth Corday, I need to speak to someone..no, don't you DARE put me on hold...damn!" She twisted the cord impatiently between her fingers. Romano picked up the work order that lay on the corner of her desk, glancing over it. Her note was stapled to the top left corner, and his grin widened in immeasurable delight. He opened the barrel and took aim.
"Well, Lizzie, I guess it's true what they say."
He handed her the paper, tapping one spot in particular.
"Bad things can happen if you skip a period."
Yes, there were costs. And not all of them were funny.
Mark.
She wanted so desperately to make a go of things with him. She'd spent so much of her life with men who were brooding, flighty, impulsive. Men whom she could see herself in. Vain ego trip - and it never worked. She ended up alone, sad, hurt, abandoned, and feeling used.
She knew it was time to grow up. She needed someone stable. Someone safe. Fireworks were not important. Spice and variety were not important. Friendship, warmth, affection, protection.
Mark.
She'd never told him about her dreams, her visions. She'd never uttered one word. And she didn't mean to spend all their time together defending her decision to take the position, nor defending Romano himself. But usually, that's exactly what ended up happening.
He would take her to dinner. They would discuss the events of the day. She would turn the conversation to movies, to music, to art, to politics.
He would gripe about Romano.
She would try to ignore it. Ask about Rachel. About David. About Michael Jordan.
He would ask how she could stand him, breathing down her neck. She would have to fight back images of that metaphor come to life. And he always seemed to take her hesitation so personally.
Well, it isn't my fault! He's the one who brings it up, always bringing it up. Chiding, criticizing, admonishing. The little jokes and sarcasms. Tired, trite, droll. At least Romano is witty. Charming. Engaging.
Comparing the boss to the boyfriend. Thin ice, Lizzie. Tread very carefully.