Radclyffe - Fated Love

by Fated Love (lit)

  "Of course," Mary Ann said. "I won't stand in your way if you have cause for dismissal. Just give her a fair chance."

  That had been three weeks ago.. In the interim, Honor had reviewed Quinn's CV and made a few discreet calls to friends from medical school and residency who had contacts at St. Michael's where Quinn had trained. Unfortunately, she didn't know much more about Quinn now than when she'd first been told to expect a surgeon as the newest member of her department. All anyone could tell her was that Quinn was rumored to be a rising young star, and if her star had burned out, no one knew why.

  "If there is a story, I haven't heard it," Honor said with a sigh.

  "She was slick this morning in that trauma," Linda pointed out mildly.

  "Yes."

  "And she's so hot the air around her sizzles."

  "God, Linda, Robin shouldn't let you out of the house without a chaperone."

  The small blond laughed. "After twelve years and two kids, Robin knows she doesn't have to worry. I was just remarking."

  "You have drool in the corner of your mouth."'

  Linda started to raise a hand to her lips, then snorted. "Ha ha. And I suppose you didn't notice?"

  Honor grew very still, disconcerted when Quinn's intense blue eyes and easy grin came instantly to mind. "No."

  "Honor, come on," Linda said gently, resting her fingers on her friend's forearm. "Sooner or later—-"

  Abruptly, Honor stood. "Let's not go there again, okay? Please."

  "I'm sorry." Linda rose and gave Honor a quick hug. "You know me, just can't mind my own business."

  "It's okay." Honor forced a smile. "Now, which room did you put the guy with the chest pain in?"

  "Number four. The EKG is by the bedside. The T-waves are peaked, but they're not flipped, so I think it's just angina."

  "Did he respond to that nitroglycerin?"

  "Yep. Felt better in thirty seconds."

  "Good," Honor said absently, glancing down the hall toward the locker room. "I'll be in with him for a while. Keep your eye on Dr. Maguire. She might have good hands, but she probably doesn't know anything about medicine. Don't let her go killing anyone."

  "Yes, boss," Linda murmured softly, wondering as she watched her friend disappear into one of the curtained rooms just what it was about Quinn Maguire that bothered Honor quite so much. She doubted that in the small world of the hospital and the intimate environment in which they spent much of their day that it would take very long for the answer to become apparent.

  Chapter Two

  Q uinn stuffed her street clothes into an empty locker, pulled on a pair of navy blue scrubs and Nikes, and, hoping to get on better footing with her new chief, went in search of Honor. She found her reading through a stack of papers in the staff lounge, a small, windowless room tucked into a rear corner of the emergency room. The space was unadorned and starkly fimctional—the only decorations were a bulletin board with the obligatory rules and regulations covering everything from waste disposal to bomb threats, and a large erasable 12-month calendar showing the staff's shift assignments. The furnishings consisted of a single grouping of end tables and chairs along one wall and a central table that looked as if it had been pilfered from the hospital cafeteria,

  "You said you wanted to go over some things," Quinn said as she helped herself to coffee from the warmer on the counter. It was her first and only cup of the day, and she fervently prayed it would be decent. She took a cautious sip. Not bad at all. Maybe that's a good sign. She and Honor were alone, and Quinn waited for an invitation before sitting down. "Is this a good time to talk?"

  "Any time that it's quiet for five minutes in a row is a good time," Honor said with a sort sigh, pushing the messages aside. Most of the time, she enjoyed the administrative aspects of her position, but the paperwork was never-ending. She gestured to the chair opposite her at the stained gray Formica-topped table. "I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet with you when you were here to interview in June."

  "So am I." Quinn kept her voice neutral and her face expressionless, wondering if they had met if Honor would have hired her. At the moment, the ER chief didn't seem too happy to have her on board. She'd been lucky that her previous chief had been able to pull some strings and get her an interview at one of the few university hospitals that still had an ER handling trauma. Most hospitals, like St. Michael's, had both a trauma unit to handle acute injuries and a separate emergency room for the treatment of medical illness. At PMC, however, the ER docs evaluated and stabilized even the level one traumas, only calling upon the surgeons for consultation or when the patient was ready to go up to the OR. It was as close as Quinn was going to get to an operating room for a while. Face it. Maybe forever. She pushed away that thought as well as the faint nausea that accompanied it. "It was kind of a rush deal."

  "Yes, the way you were hired was a bit unusual." Honor studied Quinn's deep blue eyes, searching for some suggestion of evasion or discomfort. The surgeon's gaze was direct and surprisingly serene. The tranquility was not something Honor would have expected of any surgeon, but particularly not of this one, especially not after having witnessed Quinn's aggressive handling of the trauma alert earlier. What an interesting mix of contradictions she is. Or else she's a great poker player.

  Annoyed to discover that she had lost her focus, Honor spoke more sharply than she intended. "I'm not sure what you were led to believe, but it's not going to be possible for you to see only surgical problems down here. We're—"

  "I wasn't led to believe anything except that I had a job." Quinn tilted her head with the barest flicker of a grin. "Is that still true?"

  Despite herself, Honor laughed. "Well, considering that you passed your practical exam this morning with high marks, I'd have to say yes."

  "Good, because I've already put down first and last months' rent on an apartment."

  Honor caught herself as she was about to ask where Quinn was living. For some reason, she couldn't seem to keep her mind from wandering from professional into personal areas, which was distinctly unusual for her. She was friendly with all of her colleagues, but, for the most part, her time was spent on administrative responsibilities or patient care. She didn't socialize very much with any of her colleagues other than Linda, and she almost never saw her fellow attendings outside of work except at departmental functions. I'm probably curious because she just appeared out of nowhere. It's not like there's really any great mystery about her. So, I'll just get this little introductory talk out of the way, and we can all get back to routine."

  "The Monday morning rush is going to start very soon," Honor began, "so let's go over the ground rules before that happens. We try to see patients on a first come, first served basis as much as possible. Obviously, if there's an acute case, that takes priority."

  Quinn nodded, watching Honor unconsciously turn the wedding ring on her left hand as she spoke. The ER chief had beautiful hands—narrow, supple, and long fingered. Those hands appeared very much like the woman herself—graceful and lithe and strong. With a start, Quinn realized that she had missed the last thing that Honor had said. "I'm sorry? What?"

  Honor regarded her quizzically. "I said that I don't have a problem with you selecting out the patients with complaints that seem to be surgical in origin, because that just makes sense. But if there's a patient with a critical condition or someone who has been waiting a long time, you'll need to see them even if their complaint is a medical problem."

  "I expected to do that," Quinn said evenly. "I've been boning up on my emergency medicine the last few weeks." She lifted a shoulder and shrugged. "I'm not that far out of medical school that I don't remember how to handle medical problems. I'm a little behind on the latest drug treatments, but I'll catch up."

  "I'm sure you will." Honor stood. "Don't be afraid to check with one of us if you're not sure about something—-just until you're a little more comfortable with the kinds of conditions you'll be seeing down here. I'm sure it will be very different from what you w
ere used to at St. Michael's."

  For the first time, Quinn averted her gaze, and a faint flush rose up her neck. Until four months ago, she had expected to be the newest trauma attending at St. Michael's right about now, not a green ER doc at the bottom of the totem pole. "Yes, I expect it will be."

  As they walked back toward the main work area, Honor concluded by saying, "There will be at least four attendings scheduled to work during each twelve-hour shift. I put you on days the first few weeks so you can get your bearings. For the time being, you'll basically be on two days and off one, with some variation to accommodate personal days and the like." The same shifts I work, at least until I can trust you alone.

  "Fine." Since Quinn had no close friends in the city and had nothing planned, she didn't really care when she worked. She just wanted to be busy, because alone time meant too much time to think.

  "Okay then. I'll be around if you have any questions."

  "Thanks." Quinn took a deep breath, walked to the counter, and picked up the first patient chart. Chief complaint: abdominal pain.

  That sounds like something I can handle.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Quinn found Linda recording the vital signs on an elderly woman whose chief complaint was low back pain present for five years. As was so often the case in inner-city hospitals, the emergency room frequently served as a primary care clinic for neighborhood people who either had no health insurance or were without a family doctor.

  Linda looked up at Quinn and smiled. "How's it going?"

  "Okay. Thanks. Uh...how do I get a pediatric surgeon?"

  Linda patted the elderly woman's arm. "Somebody will be by to see you in just a few minutes, okay?" Then she motioned for Quinn to follow her back to the nurses' station. Once there, she pointed to a series of lists that were tacked to a corkboard behind the counter. "Here you go—these are the names and beeper numbers for the on-call docs in the various specialties this month. Some change every day, some every week, and some cover for the entire month. What do you have?"

  "Acute appendix."

  "The nine-year-old with the bellyache?"

  "Yep. Peri-umbilical pain localizing to the right lower quadrant, elevated white count, low-grade temp, and guarding on physical exam."

  "That was a fast diagnosis."

  Quinn shrugged. "Like I said. Classic."

  "Does it bother you, that you won't be the one operating on her?" Linda still couldn't figure out why someone who could do what she had seen Quinn Maguire do that morning would want to give that up. And her motto had always been "If you want to know something, ask."

  Quinn absently rubbed an annoying itch on the left side of her chest above her shirt pocket, her expression remote as she thought about how much fun it was to do an appendectomy. "Yeah. It does." She blinked and dropped her hand, suddenly self-conscious, and studied the posted lists. "So it's...Baker, right?"

  "Yes. I'll page him for you and give you a call when he answers. Or, if you want, I can just read him the vital statistics and tell him what you think."

  "Sure, do that. If he has any questions, just come find me. And thanks." Quinn was about to reach for the next chart when she turned back and held out her hand. "By the way, I'm Quinn Maguire."

  "Linda O'Malley."

  Quinn nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting and pulled the next chart from the rack. She winced when she read the presenting problem: headache. She contemplated sliding it back and looking for something a little more exciting, and then she remembered the first come, first served rule. I can probably manage to figure this out.

  With a sigh, she tucked the chart under her arm and headed off to cubicle eight.

  At 6:45 that evening, Honor finished signing off on her last chart and glanced around the emergency room. There were three new patients waiting to be seen, none of whom had a critical problem. Two patients were waiting for beds to become available upstairs and would be admitted as soon as their rooms were ready. Four were in the process of being evaluated with x-rays and laboratory tests, but they would be nearly ready for discharge when the new shift came on duty. All in all, her ship was tidy. Except for the fact that Quinn Maguire was leaning against the wall outside one of the patient cubicles, staring at her PDA with a frown on her face. With a tired sigh, Honor got up and walked over to her.

  "Problem?"

  Quinn looked up, surprised. "No, not really. I can just never remember the dosage of Augmentin in kids."

  "Sore throat?"

  "Earache."

  "Ah." Honor told her the dosage of the antibiotic. "That's one you'll be getting very familial' with very quickly around here."

  "I'm sure." Quinn rubbed her forehead, suddenly realizing that she was beat. She'd been on her feet the entire day, which in the past hadn't been all that unusual. Nevertheless, it was a different kind of work than she was used to doing in the intensely focused operating room, and it had been quite a while since she'd worked a full shift. And even more than that, she wasn't used to feeling just a little bit behind all the time.

  "How did it go today?" Honor found herself feeling slightly sorry for the young surgeon. She'd kept an eye on Quinn throughout the day and noticed that she had worked steadily, barely even stopping to eat. She didn't slack off, and to her credit, she'd also seen her fair share of routine medical complaints. She might be a surgeon, but she wasn't flaunting it or expecting special treatment.

  "Fine, I guess. I only had to holler for help a couple of times." Quinn smiled wryly, remembering a time when she had been the one making all the calls. The one in charge. "I haven't felt quite so ineffectual in a long time."

  Honor couldn't help but hear the frustration and, surprisingly, the hint of sadness in Quinn's voice. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the surgeon why she had chosen to take this job, but it was none of her business. It would have been within her province to ask for an explanation, had she had the opportunity to interview Quinn before she'd been hired. But not now. Now it was done. "You're allowed a lunch hour, you know."

  "I'm not used to a formal schedule. I'd rather just work." At least then maybe I'll feel useful. Like maybe the last ten years haven't been for nothing.

  "Your call. See you tomorrow."

  "Right. Tomorrow."

  Quinn gave the child's mother the prescription for antibiotics along with instructions to follow up with her pediatrician in two days. After filling out the paperwork, she dropped the chart into the Completed bin and headed back to the locker room. She packed up her gear, stowed the bloodied jeans in her backpack, and headed out.

  She ran into Honor and Linda as the two women were leaving together.

  "Need a ride somewhere?" Linda asked as the three of them converged on the outer doors.

  Quinn couldn't help but notice that Honor looked slightly perturbed by her friend's offer. She shook her head. "No, thanks. I've got my bike."

  "Ooh." Linda made an excited sound. "You've got a motorcycle?"

  Laughing, Quinn replied, "No. A Fuji road bike."

  "A bicycle?" Honor questioned, surprised once again. Thus far, Quinn Maguire had managed to dispel almost every preconception she'd had about her. She'd even been forced to make allowances for her arrogance.

  "I'm only a couple of miles from here on Morris," Quinn supplied.

  "Hey! We're all practically neighbors." Linda beamed. "Honor and I are a couple of houses apart right around the corner from you on Schoolhouse Lane."

  "That's...nice. Well," Quinn put her hands in her pockets, aware that Honor Blake was slowly edging away toward the adjoining parking lot. "Good night, then,"

  Quinn watched the two women walk quickly away and then turned in the opposite direction toward the bike rack. Clearly she hadn't been wrong in her impression that morning that the chief of emergency services was less than thrilled to have her. Ordinarily, she didn't care what anyone thought of her—except for her previous chief, Saxon Sinclair. But she had cared about what Sinclair thought because she had wanted to be like
Sinclair. Every trauma fellow to pass through St. Michael's wanted to be like Sinclair. She was a surgeon's surgeon —the best hands, the quickest mind, the ultimate in cool command.

  The reasons that Quinn wanted Honor Blake to think well of her were a little more complicated than simply desiring professional respect. Sure, she wouldn't mind if the chief of emergency services was impressed with her skills or thought well of her clinical acumen. But Honor wasn't just her chief, she was also an attractive and intriguing woman. During moments when Honor hadn't been aware of her scrutiny, Quinn had noticed how Honor's eyes softened when she smiled and the way her lips curved upward when she laughed. Those events seemed rare, but worth the wait. She wouldn't mind being the one to make Honor smile that way.

  Yeah, right. Remember your own number one rule. Never ever get involved with a married woman.

  Quinn shouldered her backpack, straddled her bike, and headed off into the gathering night. The last thing she needed at this point was an involvement with anyone, especially her boss, and her very obviously unavailable boss at that.

  * * * * *

  "Jeez, could you have been any more rude?" Linda turned her six-year-old Volvo wagon onto Wissahickon Avenue and headed north out of Germantown into Mount Airy. The neighborhood along the way was comprised mostly of large three- and four-story stone homes, many of which dated back over a century. More than a few had been subdivided into apartments over the years, but a fair number of affordable single-family dwellings still remained. The northwestern section of the city had gradually become populated by an eclectic assortment of young professionals, artists, blue-collar workers, and a large percentage of the city's lesbian population.

  "What do you mean, rude?" Blushing, Honor realized that she sounded defensive and tried to subdue her tone. "Just because I wasn't falling all over her like some people I know?"

  "I most certainly was not falling all over her." Linda harrumphed. "I was simply being polite. And welcoming.''