Author's Note: My surgeon's two-week recovery estimate was waaay off.


"I can't."

"Of course you can, woman. You have the best sutures I've ever seen." Mark cleaned off the new babe's face.

"I've never sutured organs! Get over here and you stitch the cesarian section!"

"I'm a little busy with a cyanotic newborn. Stitch or she'll bleed out," he snapped and suctioned the babe's mouth again.

Panic bubbled, but she set the needle to the inner layer of womb and started. On the third layer, she startled at the sound of a deep voice near her ear.

"Take the needle a tad deeper." Mark looked over her shoulder with empty arms.

"Where's the babe? You can take over." She tied the knot.

"She's breathing now. I took her to the father. You're doing fine, no need to interrupt your artwork." He mopped her brow. "Relax before you contaminate your surgical field."

"This is not my job." A note of stress slipped out. Every stitch had to be delicate, precise and even to avoid a deadly uterine hernia or tear.

"This is exactly your job when two surgeons are needed. You're good enough to do work like this." He sat in the chair and checked the woman's breathing.

Then it dawned that he couldn't finish because his leg hurt too much. "Is it this summer heat? You seem to have more trouble standing when it's hot."

"We'll return tomorrow to check the bleeding and incision."

"I ask so I know how to help you, Mark."

"The heat exacerbates the swelling. We aren't speaking of it again," he snapped.

"You're so stubborn," she sighed.

"And you're irritating, woman! We don't need to discuss my ailments every minute! If you'd concentrate, you'd be finished."

The laugh escaped before it could be smothered. "I'm a woman - I can multitask." She set down the supplies to rethread the needle.

A soft swat barely hit through the skirts. "Don't sass me, wench," he growled.

She cocked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll sass if you need sassing. Get ice for your leg so you don't get cellulitis." Then she resumed stitching.

"I'll get ice if I damn well want ice. Goddammit, your job is to just close her up! Your father never warned me of your tongue!" he huffed in that adorable cranky way of his.

"A meek woman who just says, 'Yes, husband' and 'Make me scream again in passion' is more to your liking?" A sly smile tugged.

Silence. The man sat speechless and swallowed hard before he finally sputtered, "Tha...if...I...Do your work!"

That won a hearty laugh.

"Saucy brat," he muttered. "When we return home, I shall teach you a lesson. Be quick, for it may take a few hours to properly punish you." He spoke with all the arrogance of a marquess.

She glanced and met his eyes dark with desire. A delicious thrill ran through. "I shall dutifully moan and let you tear off my clothes as I beg for more."

He shifted in the chair as his pantaloons grew tight, his mouth clearly too dry at the moment to speak. Then he cleared his throat and snapped, "You would do well to be thankful your hands are in her guts right now."

With a soft grunt, she pursed her lips and glanced at him. "I suppose I should be thankful we don't have a long ride home anymore, or I'd find you making wild love to me in the hayfields."

A deep growl of sexual frustration erupted from his throat. The man stood and didn't hesitate to bang the chair and crutches around to reveal his irritation at being left speechless again.

Walking down the hall minutes later to get the husband to say he could come in while his wife woke up, another male voice of the neighbor traveled through the corridor.

"She's far from pretty, which hopefully means she has brains. Why else would a man of his position have wed an Ingine like her? Injuns are not the prettiest lot, but I've seen some who are better looking than her."

On the way home, Mark must've noticed the silence. "I was bantering when I said you're irritating." He paused on his crutches to catch her eye.

"I know. I'm just tired." Tugging his arm, the walk home finished in silence.


Entering the kitchen after checking that Charles was fast asleep, she spotted the tub filled with steaming water. Mark sat in a chair turned to the tub, with his chin in hand as he leaned his elbow on the table. She stopped in her tracks.

"Your bath is drawn." His voice came out husky and shiver-inducing. Apparently he hadn't forgotten about his promise of punishment tonight.

"You aren't going to bathe?"

"Later. Undress."

There was something too cold about this suddenly, even though it was fun and seductive to undress for him at his command in the past. This time, it seemed...vulgar and degrading.

Before she even got her arms fully wrapped around herself, he dropped his arms and sat back in a less threatening pose. "Come." His voice held only gentleness as he offered his hand.

She walked over and took it, letting him ease her down to straddle his good leg.

"I watch to enjoy my wife's beauty, nothing more."

"I know." She stared at his chest.

His finger hooked under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Did I make you feel ashamed during surgery?" His brow knit in concern. "My leg hurt, and perhaps my tongue was too sharp."

"No, I like when we play like that, and your tongue is rarely too sharp for me. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

"Nothing is wrong with you," he growled in irritation. "What feels right one day may not the next. It is your job to say if that happens, and my job to listen. Do you not wish to undress for me tonight?"

"No, I just..." A deep sigh.

"May I undress you?"

With a nod, she bit back a small smile. He often seemed to know when a tongue lashing versus when a gentle touch would give courage. "Mark? Thank you."

He scowled. "If a man must be thanked for not making his wife feel ashamed, he should be shot."

"That's not what I meant." She frowned in confusion.

"Then say what you mean. Having a beautiful woman about to be naked in my lap is getting damn uncomfortable," he barked.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I meant you're very sweet to take such good care of me."

"Sometimes I'm goddamn unlucky that you look so exotic."

"You like that I look different?" She rubbed her nose against his in a playful cuddle, shoving away the sting of what the men had said earlier.

With a curse, he tugged at his pant laces and then push aside her skirts. He lifted her hips and sank in through the slit in her drawers. His head fell back with a deep sigh. "I damn love it," he breathed.

The soft gasp of pleasure melted into a giggle. "Help yourself."

"You can't expect a gorgeous woman, about to bathe before him, sit in his lap and him have any self-control."

She frowned. "What if I'm not beautiful compared to others like me? You lust for what you think is a rare beauty. I might be plain when we do see others."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I lust for what I love, which makes you even more beautiful. Should such an insane thing exist as you being plain, I shan't realize it because I only have eyes for you."

"But, when I cut my hair and was coming home, you said you - "

"I know what I said," he huffed. "I've only ever felt that way with you, which is why it bothered me when I thought you were a stranger." He frowned. "Should you have been an Englishwoman, I doubt we'd be having this conversation."

A glance away apparently spoke for itself as she got up.

The man looked a bit confused and tucked himself back together. "Did someone say something today about your heritage? I apologize if my comment was offensive; I didn't mean it as such."

"I'm said to not be as pretty as far as attractiveness goes for Native Americans. People talk and wonder why you chose me..." The words faded away in embarrassment. "It's just been a long day."

"Do you believe I give a rat's ass what people think?" he barked. "I'm sure some women find me unattractive, especially with my leg gone now, and I know many think I'm an ass. Should I worry that you no longer find me desirable?"

"No."

He gave a pointed look.

"But - "

"I really don't understand why we're wasting our breath on this when we could be having great sex. I'm damn uncomfortable, and I promise that doesn't just happen with any woman who walks by."

She hesitated.

His head fell back. "I'm in pain. I've been in pain for the past ten minutes. If that doesn't prove how much want you, I need to be shot and put out of my misery. If you don't want sex, at least come help me embarrass myself. Should I compose proses of your beauty right now, our night will end in less than a minute." The wooden chair groaned as he gripped the seat tighter. "Dear god, come help me for a moment, wife."

Sometimes love require blind trust. She unbuttoned her dress and let it fall.

He hissed in a sharp breath. "Tanya, you're playing with fire," he panted in agony.

The fact that he desired so strongly helped regain some confidence. She walked over and sat in his lap as she pulled off the chemise.

The man jerked her hips forward and crushed her against him as he lost himself in the next second. His chest heaved and body trembled as he panted, "Sorry. I wanted you so much - "

She captured his face in her hands and silenced him with a kiss.

A throaty moan and he found renewed desire.

Passion spoke louder tonight than words ever could.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don't touch," he breathed and leaned his head back against the headboard the next morning.

"It pains you. Let me work out the knots." She eased his pants down and reached underneath this thigh, as well as on top. "You can't be that vigorous in bed yet."

"Don't scold me, woman. You needed pleasing last night," he barked.

A hot flush worked its way up. "You pleased me quite well, but I don't want it at your expense."

"I'll decide what is enough to pay. Leave me be." He tried to bat her hands away from his poor thigh that had swollen worse overnight.

"You can't fight me doing your daily exercises. You're going to atrophy soon."

His eyes flicked to her in a dark scowl.

A soft laugh escaped. "Do not look at me like that. You need someone to look after you."

"I'm goddamn tired of my damn leg always being the center of our conversation."

"Be a good patient, and it wouldn't have to be."

"You seem to forget that I'm the surgeon. And the head of this household," he growled.

"Yes, but I'm the neck. Should you be too stubborn to face an issue, I most force you to look."

His eyebrows snapped together. "Don't sass me, wench." He pulled her hands away.

"You need - "

"To be left alone!" he yelled. "And you do not have liberty to strip me!" Jerking up his pants, with little care for his leg, he cursed when it protested the abuse.

"I hover only because I want to help this be easier on you," she said quietly.

"You want it to be easier? Pretend it's not there! Stop hovering like I'm some goddamn invalid!" he shouted with so much heartache. "I don't need you there every second all day to see what I can't do anymore!"

She swallowed hard. Last night, he'd been embarrassed when he'd struggled to make love in bed, but he'd sallied forth. Now it was apparent that he'd kept trying in order to help her overcome her own self-consciousness after those men's remarks. "It'll take time to figure things out. You're still fresh from surgery, and a prosthesis will - "

"Shut up, Tanya." He said it with his head turned away and without emotion.

It stung. Hard. Withdrawing her hands, she swallowed down the hurt and guilt. "I didn't want to make you ashamed instead last night."

In the next heartbeat, he pulled her into a fierce hug. "I'm sorry. I don't resent you or what we did last night."

"I don't understand why you're angry with me." She stroked his hair.

"Not with you - myself. You're learning to only see an invalid," he whispered. "I know you mean to make things better, but there are some things I just need Brigands for instead. I need to be able to feel like a man with you."

"Oh, Mark, you are. Like what things?"

He shook his head. "Exercises and getting dressed. Especially if I've bumbled through the previous night, I need you not there to see me struggle through the morning."

"Alright. But, just remember that if this was me, you'd want to help me do everything. I help in hopes of us figuring out ways to give you some independence back, not because I think you're an invalid."

"I know." He sighed and sat back to hold her hand instead. "At least right now, I need to stumble without you there seeing it all."

It was painful to know he had a hard time getting dressed in the mornings, and Brigands be the one to aid him privately in and out of the bath and with exercises. Throughout the day at work, he readily accepted her help, however.

"Tanya, I need you to assist," he said after the last patient left the clinic.

"Assist with what?" She followed him to the back hospital bed where he pulled the curtain and then sat. "Oh, Mark," she gasped when he bared his leg that bulged around the bandage. "How long has it felt swollen?" Unwrapping the bandage from around his waist and thigh as fast as possible, she touched it. "It feels slightly warm. Does it hurt?"

"I think just from the swelling pressure." He lifted the stump and inspected. "There has to be a clot somewhere. Is it red on the underside?"

"Yes, it looks like a red rash close to the end here. What does it mean?"

"Venous thrombosis. A handful of years ago, German physician Rudolf Virchow published Virchow's Triad. It states a blood clot - "

"A blood clot?! Won't it go to your lungs or heart or brain?!"

"Possibly, which is why we have to get it out. Listen, I'm trying to teach you, woman. Grab antiseptic, two clamps, sutures and a scalpel. His theory says causes could be hypercoagulation, hemodynamic changes or endothelial injury."

She washed and returned with the items. "Is it the trauma from surgery?"

"Not likely this far afterwards. Maybe the bandage has been too tight and caused a clot."

A few minutes later, she knelt beside the bed and stitched the small incision. "You're still numb?"

He grunted as he ground some herbs in the mortar and pestal.

"Doc?" The man sounded frantic. "Doc, ya here?"

"I'll go see." Wiping her hands, she got up and stepped around the curtain. "Good day, Mr. Jefferson. My husband is indisposed at the moment. Please, have a seat and he'll be right there."

"Ma'm, I ran on ahead of the old man and woman bringing him. An infant is being brought in. He's turning blue. They're right behind me." The usually calm man had a quiver in his voice and gave an anxious glance down the road.

"Alright, let me get Dr. Johnson."

"Hurry, ma'm. Hurry."

An odd sense of dread hit, followed by maternal instinct of panic. "Who is it?" The question had never popped up before because it never mattered who, just that excellent medical care was given. This time, though, a sinking feeling in the stomach said to ask.

Grief filled his eyes, followed by empathy.

Charles. She tore to the back.

Mark slapped a bandage on the unfinished incision and yanked up his pants. "I heard. It's Charles. Prepare for choking, anaphylactic reaction, asthma or cardiac arrest."

She ran to the supply closet. "Get what?" Tools touched every day looked foreign and suddenly lost functional purpose. Grabbing the first things in sight, her shaking hands knocked supplies over. Strong, steady hands caught hers and turned her around.

"Stop it," Mark commanded, "He's a patient, nothing more or you won't think straight. Us making an emotional judgement call is the difference between life and death. I know you can keep your head in a crisis. Do it."

"It's Charles." Tears welled.

"Tanya!" He shook her shoulders, his own voice quivering. "Don't you dare fall apart. He needs medical care, not hysterical parents."

"Mark!" Brigands's frantic yell filled the clinic, along with several sets of footsteps.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Slow down," Mark said in a low, calm voice and injected medicine into the tiny vein. "One, two, three," he chanted in a rhythm for her to match.

She slowed the chest compressions to his rhythm. "He should be breathing by now." Her hands shook uncontrollably. Mark's surgeon hands didn't fail him.

"We just got the object out of his throat. It'll take his body a moment to realize he can breathe again," he replied with such calmness and breathed into the little mouth. Then he took over compressions. "Come on, son." Mark's voice cracked this time, and his breaths into Charles came a bit too quick.

Setting a hand on Mark's arm slowed him down.

"Another half cc," he ordered, his hands beginning to shake.

Drawing up more medicine, she reached to inject the tiny arm. There was no way the shaking would ever stop enough to inject such a tiny target. That was it - the target. She looked up at Mark. "The heart."

"What?" He looked up with tears in his eyes.

"If we aren't pumping his blood enough, the drug isn't getting to his heart." She handed him the syringe.

He felt between ribs and stabbed in the syringe. When she resumed compressions, he grabbed her hands away.

The little chest twitched.

When he puffed in air, Charles started breathing. A string of medical orders followed, once again the surgeon working on a patient instead of his son. He listened with the stethoscope as she grabbed supplies.

Every sense zeroed in on Charles as he woke up crying minutes later.

"Don't cry, love. You'll be alright." Without a second thought, she opened her dress for Charles to nurse. To hold him close and cherish what had almost been lost. She looked up when Brigands laid a blanket over her for modesty, keeping his head turned away. Then he walked past Mark and returned to Teresa, who wept in the corner.

Mark didn't come over to the bed. A hand pressed to his eyes and his head bowed as he leaned his back against the wall. Those broad shoulders shook, suddenly unable to handle what had almost happened.

"Come hold him." She brushed at her eyes.

Pushing himself upright, he came over on the crutches and sat with an arm around her. His other hand stroked Charles's cheek.

"Is he going to have brain damage?"

His eyes didn't tear away from the babe. "I don't think so, but we'll examine him closely in the coming days and watch his development. It doesn't matter, though, because we'll still love him." Silence. "You did good, Tanya. He survived because of you."

"He almost died because of me." The sobs finally burst out. "I didn't know my earring fell off this morning into his crib."

"It was an accident." He tucked her head under his chin. "He's alright now."

"But what if he has brain damage?" She cradled Charles closer as he nursed.

"He'll be alright, Tanya. We'll just put earrings away until he's thirty years old." Mark wiped at his own eyes and pressed a kiss to her hair. "No more tricks until we're too old to realize it." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the babe's forehead. "We love you, son," he whispered.