I

Dean paid only cursory attention to the speedometer as he tore down the freeway toward St. Luke's. While it wasn't precisely an emergency, minutes still counted; if someone needed a AAA badly enough to require one on Thanksgiving, it wouldn't wait long.

He'd been taking call at St. Luke's on holidays for at least two years, enjoying the notion of being paid to sit around and actively not work. He'd rarely been made useful. When his phone had rung fifteen minutes ago, he'd assumed it was Sam or Jess, calling from Jess's parents' place in Kentucky to wish him a happy Turkey Day and a heartfelt "wish you were here."

His phone buzzed on the seat next to him. Dean thumbed it to speakerphone, one eye on the road. "This is Dean."

"Dean, this is the charge nurse at St. Luke's. What's your ETA?"

"I'm about a mile away from the exit," he replied. "Five minutes once I'm off the freeway."

"You'll be in OR four. The PA is already opening your table. We'll see you soon."

"See you soon," Dean repeated, flipping on the turn indicator for the exit.

He did not get lost this time, and as he pulled on his scrubs he tried to break down the steps of a AAA. He'd scrubbed one, a very long time ago, and the cardiovascular surgeon had been so fast that it was all Dean could do to keep up, let alone take time to soak in the procedure. "This is where my ability to bullshit my way outta anything comes in handy," he muttered to himself, tying his cap at the nape of his neck. "Let's do this."

II

The back table was not nearly as chaotic as Dean had feared. Often when a tech opened supplies they would pile everything in the middle, which meant it would take precious minutes to make sense of the mess while setting up the case. Dean's preceptor had droned on and on about opening supplies where they made sense, so that setup didn't take as long; Dean had taken it to heart, and it appeared that whoever had opened this table was of a like mind with her.

In fact, Dean realized, as his eyes were drawn to the tidy stack of gowns at the lower left-hand corner of the table, it looked remarkably like what Cassie's tables had looked like when she opened.

The door to the inner core opened and Dean knew who would be walking through before he could even see her.

"Cassie," he said in greeting, resisting the urge to swallow hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

To her credit, Cassie did not stare or freeze. She moved swiftly to the table and opened the packs of suture she carried, each one landing precisely where she intended it. "Is this going to be a problem?" she asked briskly when she was done.

"You're the PA?" Dean asked in counter to her question.

"I am." She turned. Her eyes were cool above her mask, but Dean knew her well enough to see the tightness at the edges.

"Congratulations." Dean nodded, raising a hand to scratch self-consciously at the back of his neck. "I'd heard you went back to school, but…no. It's not going to be a problem. Unless it is for you."

"That was a long time ago," Cassie replied, her tone still distant. "And we've got work to do. You ready to scrub in?"

"Ready as ever." Dean surveyed the table to ensure his gloves were there. "Who's the surgeon?"

"New guy. Name's Novak. I hear he's good."

Dean couldn't help it; he coughed in surprise. "He is. I've been working with him at Summit." His voice felt oddly strained. "I didn't know he was here, too."

"He's the CVPV guy on call, apparently." Cassie jerked her head towards the table. "It's not going to set up itself. Let's see if you've still got the moves, Grasshopper."

"Them's fighting words." Dean flashed a smile that he hoped touched his eyes, where she could see it, before pushing out the doors and standing by the scrub sinks, staring at the boxes of scrub brushes without seeing them.

"Do the goddamn job," he said to himself, his breath fogging up his safety glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose, molding the mask there more firmly to keep the moisture from building inside the glasses and making it impossible to see. "Be an adult and do what you came here to do."

He'd come here to scrub a AAA. The presence of a former lover and a man he painfully wished could claim that title wasn't going to stop him.

Probably.

III

"Dean?"

Dean spun at the sound of Dr. Novak's astonished voice. "Hey, Doc. Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, thank God it's you," Dr. Novak said, and Dean could swear the surgeon practically slumped in relief.

"Thank your lucky stars I decided to take call this Thanksgiving," Dean said, face growing warm at the praise. "I could have been in Kentucky."

"And if you were, I don't know what I'd do." Dr. Novak stuck out a hand. "You want to turn?"

Dean looked down at his front; he still hadn't completed tying his gown. "Yeah. Thanks." He grabbed the card that allowed the surgeon to bring the tie around Dean's back without touching the strings themselves and handed it off, half-spinning to grab the string on the other side as Dr. Novak yanked the card off. "Your PA is around here somewhere." That odd constrictive feeling clutched at his chest again. "I've worked with her before. She used to be my preceptor. You're in good hands."

"Well, that's good to hear." Dr. Novak rubbed his eyes. "The patient was scheduled for an elective triple-A on Monday. He started acutely dissecting about three hours ago, and in the consult with his usual doctor we decided not to take the chance of waiting. You ready for this?"

"We're gonna rock this, Doc," Dean said confidently, eyes scanning his instruments. "Bring it on."

IV

A trickle of sweat crawled its way down its path between Dean's shoulder blades, and he rolled his shoulders to try and either dislodge it or soak it up with his undershirt. He'd forgotten that open cavity cases like this often meant the room temperature would be raised to keep the patient at a safe temperature; had he remembered, he'd have ditched the undershirt.

The nurse in the room – Dean had asked his name and then promptly forgotten it – opened another package of sponges onto his table, and Dean absently shook the wad of cotton, fanning them out so each individual sponge was easy to see. "One-two-three-four-five," he rattled off, breaking off the paper band that held them together with one hand while handing Dr. Novak a retractor with the other.

Time was lurching by in uneven dollops. There had been a flurry of activity as the incision was made, a giant midline gash with a twenty blade, done so casually that it made Dean's stomach do an odd jump. He was used to those hands making small, precise incisions, mindful of the surface anatomy of veins and arteries and nerves that ran close to the skin on the arms and legs. The incision had bulged outward and Dr. Novak and Cassie both had gone to work with the electrocautery pencils, controlling the bleeding they'd caused before continuing to dissect deeper at a rather alarming pace.

Now, an hour after the initial incision, Dr. Novak had mobilized the organs that obscured his view of the artery and Dean had a few seconds of breathing room as the surgeon considered his next move. "Deep knife, on a long handle," he said finally, and to Cassie, "ease up on that retractor for now."

"You'd be able to see a lot better if you packed the bowel out on the field," Cassie suggested.

"I don't want to pack the bowel out on the field," Dr. Novak replied sharply. "I can get in underneath it. The aneurysm is high enough that I can just use a tubular graft, and those are much simpler to put in."

"How are you going to anastomose with the bowel in the way?" Cassie pressed.

"It's not in the way, because you're going to retract it out of the way," Dr. Novak replied with a tone of exaggerated patience that underlined his extreme lack of it. He shot a look at Dean. "If she was your preceptor, I see where you get it from."

Dean suppressed a snort as he handed over the long knife handle. Dr. Novak took it, glancing for a moment over his loupes at Dean with a tiny shadow of mirth in his eyes before turning back to the patient.

"Can I get some airplane on the bed, toward Cassie? And up."

"Airplane and up," the anesthesiologist repeated, and the operating table began to shift, angling toward Cassie and rising up.

"Good." Dr. Novak bent slightly, tapped on the retractor to let Cassie know to use tension on it again, and carefully reached in with the blade.

"I see it," he said a moment later. "Sharp back. Clamps. Big ones."

"Doctor," Cassie said, and Dean recognized her stubborn tone, "I really think you'd be able to see better if we packed the bowel out onto the field."

"Would you like to do this?" Dr. Novak asked pointedly, hand still held out for the clamp that Dean passed silently. "Because if you'd like to switch places I will gladly pack the bowel out so you can see. We could take the liver, too, if you wanted. It's even more in the way than the bowel. Or maybe you could just trust that I can see everything that I need to see, and retract like I'm asking you to." He reached in with the clamp and locked it with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.

"Is he always like this?" Cassie demanded of Dean.

For a very short moment, Dean considered a joking response, but a glance at the way Dr. Novak's shoulders tensed told him that a joke would be the worst possible idea right now, as would telling the truth. "Another clamp for you, Doc," he said instead, holding the second aortic clamp at the ready, shooting a very firm glance at Cassie.

Cassie seemed to get the message, and if she didn't, she at least didn't want to kindle any drama while a patient lay open on the table. She drew back a little more on the retractor, clearly determined to give Dr. Novak the best visual possible, even if it wasn't her way.

"Fifteen on a long handle," Dr. Novak said, "and is the graft ready?"

"Graft is ready," Dean said, pulling it closer to him on the table.

Dr. Novak held out his hand, and Dean recognized the surgeon's idiomatic sign language for "forceps." He handed over a pair, along with the requested knife, and stood by with a basin to collect the portions of the dissected artery that the surgeon would be removing.

"Send that as specimen," Dr. Novak said distractedly as he handed back the long-handled knife, "posterior mesenteric endarterectomy. Formalin is fine. Dean, the graft and six-oh Prolene, please."

Dean eyed the tiny space through which he could see where the aneurysm had been. "Doc," he said slowly, "Don't hate me, but…are you really going to suture with these tiny-ass needles through a window the size of my asshole?"

Dr. Novak looked at the surgical site, and then very pointedly back at Dean. "Your asshole?"

"I exaggerate," Dean amended, and he could feel his cheeks begin to grow warm. "But…Doc, Cassie's right. You don't have the visual there. And my long-handled needle drivers are all for giant needles, not your flimsy little vascular ones."

"You know," Dr. Novak said, and the tone of his voice made it perfectly clear that Dean had just blown it. "For once during this case, it'd be nice to not have someone doubting my judgment. Believe it or not, this is not my first triple-A, and this guy's anatomy is not so dense that I can't navigate a needle driver –"

"Doc," Dean interrupted. Dr. Novak's eyebrows shot up, but Dean pressed on. "You're doing it again. Take a breath. Your judgment is awesome. We're just saying – it'd be easy to pack out the bowel, it'd make things easy on you too, and then we can close and all go pretend we have a turkey to eat. We're here to make it easy for you. Not second-guess you."

"Don't use your placating bullshit on me," Dr. Novak muttered, turning back to the patient. He stared down for several moments, then heaved a sigh. "Fine. You want to pack out the bowel? We'll pack out the bowel. Moist laps. A shitton of them. Warm moist laps; I don't want to give this guy hypothermia on top of eviscerating him. Cassie, here's your moment to shine. You pack that bowel like you've never done before."

Cassie shared a significant glance with Dean as she carefully mobilized the bowel, easing it out onto the drapes and cushioning it with the damp sponges Dean handed her. Dr. Novak watched the proceeding with an impatient air, going so far as to turn to Dean's table and begin loading his suture onto a needle driver himself. Dean clenched his jaw and decided to let it slide.

The uncomfortable tension built in the silence as Dr. Novak sewed the graft in place, until finally he huffed another sigh. "Dammit. Dean, I hate it when you're right."

"Keeps me up at night," Dean replied glibly as he held out a pair of suture scissors and sprinkled some heparinized saline onto the surgeon's fingers to make tying the polypropylene suture easier.

"Shut up," Dr. Novak said grumpily, but there was enough of a playful edge to it to make the corner of Dean's mouth curve into a faint smile.

V

The final button had finally been fumbled through its hole when a hand landed on Dean's shoulder. Dean started, twisting, not certain why he was surprised to see Dr. Novak standing there in what was apparently a hastily donned tee shirt and jeans, a long tan overcoat draped over one arm.

"Hey," Dean said, mouth drying rapidly. "You heading home?"

"No," Dr. Novak said, holding up his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. "I have that much paperwork to do for this case before I go anywhere."

"Ah." Dean found that he was rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, and he let his hand fall. "Drinks after?" he asked, wishing he could wince at how hopeful his voice sounded. "There's gotta be someplace open."

Dr. Novak shook his head, an expression of genuine regret creasing his brow. "I have a flight at eleven tonight. If I do nothing but documentation until I have to leave, I just might finish it in time to enjoy my week at home."

"At – oh. Family?" Dean asked.

Dr. Novak nodded. "Every few years we all make an effort to try to visit all at the same time. There are five of us kids – everyone else has a family, so it makes things a little hairy. I usually let them make the plans and then show up. My schedule's the least convoluted." He smiled a little wistfully. "No in-laws to swap holidays with, no kids to match up school vacations."

"Right." Dean tugged on his jacket. "So you won't be around on Monday."

"No. The Monday after is a busy day, though – lots of people getting in before the end of the year." Dr. Novak offered a shy sort of smile. "Take a week off from my needy demands and be fresh."

Dean forced a grin to his face. "I'll do that." He held out a hand; slightly bewildered, Dr. Novak reached out to grasp it, not in a handshake but in a solid grip. "Have a good flight."

"I'll try," Dr. Novak replied. He let go and turned to leave the locker room. Dean let his hand drop to his side and had leaned down to grab his duffel bag when Dr. Novak coughed.

"I – Dean. I can't say how relieved I was to see you here today. It made everything go much more smoothly."

Dean let out a small exhalation of pleased, slightly embarrassed laughter. "That's what a good tech does."

"No. It's what you do." Dr. Novak shook his head and took a half-step closer. "I've had good techs. But you…you keep me centered. Grounded."

Words fled Dean's mind. "Thanks," he managed to force out, along with an absurd half-wave that Dr. Novak matched before he turned once more.

The door closing echoed through the empty locker room, and Dean sank down onto a bench to try and still the tumult of thoughts and emotions that demanded to be examined, not least the yawning disappointment that he'd seen the last of Dr. Novak for several days.

VI

"Dean."

Dean looked up from his keys in surprise, watching as Cassie sidled up to his car. She smiled as her eyes followed its lines. "Still driving this old thing, huh?"

"Don't you talk to her like that," Dean said, patting the roof. "She's as much of a lady as you are."

"I'll be sure to tender a formal apology," Cassie replied wryly.

Silence twined between them for a few heartbeats before Dean cleared his throat. "So how long you been a PA?"

"About a year now?" Cassie's brow wrinkled in thought. "Went back to school right after we – right after I quit Summit." She dropped her gaze to the concrete of the ground for a moment before looking back up, eyes determined. "Look. I'm not going to waste my time with small talk. What you said earlier – go home and pretend we have turkey to eat. You living alone now?"

Dean shook his head, lips pressed firmly together. "Still with Jess and my brother. They're visiting her parents – they just got engaged."

Cassie nodded thoughtfully. "Always figured they would." She took a breath, some of the conviction fading from her face. "I –" She shook her head. "I've got a six-pack and a turkey pot pie at home that could feed two. And I could use some company."

Dean felt something twist inside his stomach. "Cassie –"

She held up a hand. "I know. And I get it. But…that was a long time ago. And you said that maybe someday we could be friends again." She looked at him expectantly. "I figure now is as good a time as any to try."

He shouldn't. He knew her better than he knew anyone except, perhaps, Sam, and there was no scenario in which this would end well for either of them.

"I should mention the turkey pot pie is homemade."

"I shouldn't," Dean began.

"Why?" Cassie asked bluntly.

"Because I know you," Dean replied just as bluntly. "And I very clearly remember the first time I came over. First we'll have enough beer to get tingly and buzzed, then you'll want to watch a movie on the couch, then you'll be cold and you'll get a blanket and want to snuggle up, and then…" Dean shook his head.

Cassie did not bat an eye. "So are you coming?"

Dean closed his eyes for the space of a slow breath. "You still live at Parks Hill?"