Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

"Look," Pearce said, sliding away even though her coffee cup was only half full. "I gotta be in the OR in a few minutes. I'll catch you later."

Andrea wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, a moist pink flicker of invitation. "Next time, I'll take care of you first."

Skip Ronito, a resident in Pearce's year, snickered as he passed with a breakfast tray laden with bacon, eggs, and a six-inch stack of toast. When Pearce followed him to the checkout line, he muttered, "Hey, Rifkin, if you don't have time for her, I'll take your place. Just thinking about her gives me a boner."

"Now there's a news flash," Pearce said. "Be my guest."

He looked at her quizzically. "You really don't care?"

"What Andrea does is none of my business."

"Does she...you know...swing both ways?"

Pearce shrugged but she definitely doubted it. "Ask her."

"Yeah, maybe," Skip said, glancing over his shoulder. Andrea looked past him as if he were invisible, her gaze riveted on Pearce.

"Yeah," he added with a sigh, "right."

"Here," Pearce said, dropping a dollar on his tray. "Get my coffee, will you?"

Not waiting for an answer, she edged around him and beat a hasty retreat before Andrea could catch up to her and make another offer that didn't interest her any longer.

v "Whoa, whoa. Slow down," Wynter said sharply. "That thing you're about to cut is the spermatic cord, and I don't think this guy would like it very much if you chopped it in half."

Liu looked where Wynter pointed, now clearly able to discern the round tubular structure as large as his little finger. "I don't know how I missed that."

"Well, how many times've you seen it in a living person?"

"This is the first time."

"That's how you missed it. So be careful and look before you cut.

It's good to be fast. It's bad to be sloppy."

Liu nodded earnestly and resumed dissecting the filmy hernia sac from the surrounding muscles and fascia in the groin of the twenty-five year-old weightlifter. Wynter heard a small snort of disgust and looked over the top of the ether screen at her friend Ken, who was managing the anesthesia for the procedure. He rolled his eyes at her and she grinned behind her mask. Because anesthesia had a shorter training period than surgery, Ken was in his final year of training. He had seen hundreds of surgery residents come and go, and like most anesthesia residents, shared a mostly good-natured rivalry with his surgery counterparts over who had the ultimate authority in the operating room. All surgeons felt that the operating room was their kingdom and often opined on the fine points of appropriate anesthesia management. The anesthesiologists invariably took offense and often vented their frustrations by heckling or deriding the hapless junior surgery residents.

"You're doing fine, Liu," Wynter said, ignoring Ken's grumbling about the longest hernia repair on record. "There...right there. See that little pink half-moon? Poking out right next to the vas? That's a loop of bowel. Do not cut it."

"Okay, okay," Lu muttered, sweating as if he were defusing a ten megaton bomb without a shield.

From just behind her right ear, Wynter heard a soft, sensuous voice ask, "Having fun?"

She didn't look around, but her pulse sped up and her stomach tightened. Keeping her voice cool and professional, she said, "We just isolated the hernia sac and are about to tie it off. It's small."

"Good," Pearce said, moving closer so that she could see over Wynter's shoulder. Careful not to overbalance and push Wynter into the field, she rested her fingertips on Wynter's back to steady herself. Since nothing behind a surgeon was sterile, she didn't risk contaminating anything. She watched the first-year resident work for a few moments, automatically following his progress as all of her senses became absorbed by impressions of Wynter--the slight sheen of sweat on the back of her neck, the movement of firm muscles as she reached for instruments, the scent of her skin like the flowers that ringed Pearce's grandmother's porch, their petals heavy with early-morning rain- sweet and fresh and rich. Unconsciously, Pearce swept her fingers in a slow rhythmic arc along the curve of Wynter's shoulder blade. "Looks great."

"Yes." Wynter imagined she could feel Pearce's breath against her skin, although she knew that Pearce's mask prevented that. With effort, she cleared her mind of the feel of Pearce's hands on her back, the gentle pressure along her body that she knew came from Pearce's breasts and thighs just touching hers as the other woman leaned over her shoulder. Carefully, she massaged the adventurous loop of small intestine back into the abdominal cavity where it belonged. Holding the bowel firmly out of the way, she directed, "Now put your suture just above my fingers. You want to be careful...Ow... ow , damn it...

damn!"

"You get stuck?" Pearce asked briskly as Wynter reflexively jerked away from the table and slammed into her. She was already reaching for the bottle of alcohol from beneath the metal prep cart as Wynter swore again and jerked off her glove. Blood streamed from the pulp of her index finger onto the floor. "Here, hold out your hand."

"God, that hurts," Wynter said, gritting her teeth as she squeezed her finger to force the blood from the puncture site. At the same time, Pearce doused it with alcohol, adding to the pain but making her feel better, at least psychologically. She looked back at the operating table, where Liu was watching her with wide, panicked eyes. "It's okay. Just put a moist sponge on the field. I'll be back in a second."

Pearce grasped Wynter's hand when she tried to pull away, ignoring the blood that dripped into her palm. "Wait a minute while I pour some Betadine on it."

"Now I have to rescrub," Wynter protested halfheartedly. "And you're getting blood on you."

"I'm not worried." Pearce grabbed several gauze pads from a nearby stack and pressed them to Wynter's finger. "Looks deep."

"Deep enough," Wynter muttered, fighting a wave of nausea.

Surgical needles were razor-sharp, heavy steel. The puncture had struck bone.

"What's the story on your patient?" Pearce asked, dabbing at the still-bleeding site. She had an insane urge to kiss it. Like her chin. She chased the image away. "Anything we should worry about?"

"No. No history of drug abuse. No transfusions. Straight, as far as we know. Mr. Joe College." Wynter shook her head. "It's no big deal."

Pearce met Wynter's eyes. They both knew that needle sticks were par for the course in the operating room. Everyone got stuck at least once a month. Fortunately, the needles used for suturing were not hollow, so they were far less likely to transfer contagious viruses than syringe needles. Despite the deadly threat of HIV, the possibility of hepatitis was much more likely and often as debilitating. "After the case, stop by employee health and get baseline bloods drawn. I'll order an HIV and hepatitis screen on this guy just to be sure."

"It's not really necessary. I'm sure he's clea--"

"I'm sure too. But let's be safe. Get the baseline titers drawn."

Wynter sighed and nodded assent, realizing that Pearce was right, even though it was a nuisance. Now she'd have to have follow-up bloods drawn at six weeks and six months. They'd come back negative. She was sure of it. She glanced down and saw that Pearce's fingers shook as they cupped her hand. She'd never seen Pearce tremble the slightest bit, even after thirty-six hours of no sleep and gallons of coffee. Suddenly hyperaware of Pearce's touch, she pulled her hand away as her stomach cartwheeled. "I need to finish this case."

"Right," Pearce said hoarsely. "Go ahead and scrub. I'll watch Junior until you get back."

Wynter hurried out, anxious to complete the surgery and even more anxious to reclaim some semblance of control. Pearce had a way of making her do things she didn't want to do. She'd spent almost seven years with a man who'd manipulated and cajoled her into making choices she didn't want to make. Now, when she thought she'd left all that behind, it seemed that Pearce had only to ask and she was willing to comply. It was maddening and more than a little frightening.