“A steady hand is key. Both for your own confidence and your patient’s,” Dr. Helfen said softly. There was a quiet click of the needle holders as he pinched the tiny curved needle in its grasp. He dipped it underneath a portion of soft pink tissue. “Remember, the tissue here is very delicate, so be gentle. And be certain you don’t catch the fat in your suture. The fat will die, and then you’re left with a loosened stitch.”

The soldier in front of you grunted. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, shining underneath the flickering light of the lantern swinging above. He was just one of the many that had lain on this table within the last four days after the Battle of Trost. Your patients’ stories of the witnessed horror from that day continuously echoed in your ears. Those that didn’t wish to speak aloud told you all you needed to know just by the look of their sunken eyes and inward contemplation. You never pushed for more information as you tended to their wounds. Your ears were simply open should they wish to recount their tales while you patched them up physically. Mentally, however, there wasn’t much you could do.

Dr. Helfen’s concentration did not break from his task. His clear eyes focused through the bifocals that sat perched on the end of his long nose. His aged skin may hold wrinkles these days and his hair was peppered with white, but the knowledge in his mind and the skill of his hands were just as youthful as ever.

It was just the three of you in that surgery that day. Your mentor’s practice was simple and consisted of only what you two needed. The main surgery, where the three of you were currently, had all the amenities the practice required. The back study was where you two resided and relaxed.

“Do you really feel the needle, cadet? Was my local anesthetic not enough?” the surgeon asked as he smoothly pulled through the black catgut thread in a fluid motion. He deftly twisted his hand a couple of times, knotting the suture. A quick snip of the scissors and his suture was complete. Another quiet click of the needle holders and the needle plunged back in.

The cadet grunted. “Just some sharp pressure.” His dark eyes flickered over to you and he waggled his brows. “Perhaps I need something a little stronger?”

You snorted and grabbed a dark bottle of whiskey from a nearby table. “Not too much now,” you warned, handing the half-empty bottle to the young cadet. “Pace yourself and don’t move too much while drinking. Wouldn’t want your surgeon here piercing the wrong thing.”

The injured soldier took a quick swig and grinned at you over the lip of the bottle. “Thank you, nurse.”

“Doctor,” you corrected immediately, returning to your place beside your mentor.

“My, my,

doctor

, is it? Well, now I certainly feel like I’m in capable hands,” he said with a wink. “May I ask why it isn’t your beautiful hands sewing me back up then?”

You leaned forward with a soft smile. “He’s got gentler hands than I,” you whispered.

“Oh, does he now? Here let me see for myself.” The cadet put his bottle down and reached towards you. To keep him distracted from Dr. Helfen’s work, you decided to humor him. You gave over one of your hands. The cadet’s own hands were rough and covered in bloodied blisters that had torn open. The sight of the grime that covered the opened abrasions made you inwardly cringe. You needed to clean those as soon as possible. Softly, he traced the contours of your own clean hand, feeling the delicate veins and bones that ran from wrist to fingertip. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

“You don’t hold weapons very often, do you?” he observed.

“I close wounds, not create them,” you replied. You grabbed a bowl of clean water and mixed with it a sterile solution. “I need to clean these before infection sets in those blisters. God knows what’s on your hands.”

The cadet glanced down. “Titan blood and dirt?” he guessed.

You dipped his dirty hands into the bowl and he hissed in pain. His gaze stayed locked on your face as you gently rubbed them clean. You dried them with a soft towel and wrapped them neatly with sterile bandages. “There. Much better.”

“Not a gentle touch, my ass,” the cadet grumbled as he picked his bottle back up. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how they would feel doctoring

other

areas.”

You raised a brow. “That would require your other

areas

to be injured in the first place. Which, if I had to guess, is something you’re not going to want. But it’s what’s going to happen if you keep up that talk in front of my father.”

The cadet choked on his drink, spewing the golden liquid over himself and the table. He glanced between you and the surgeon. “Father?”

Dr. Helfen clucked in disapproval, quickly raising his hands away from the suture site. “No longer sterile,” he mumbled angrily.

You laughed and stood from your seat, reaching for the jars that contained evenly cut squares of gauze that sat soaking in a sterile solution. “I’m just messing with you. He’s only my mentor.” You gently patted Dr. Helfen’s shoulder. “Easily fixed,” you reassured him.

He breathed heavily through his nose, setting down the needle holders. “An opportunity to swap out, I suppose. You can finish closing this up. You will need to undermine the septae to decrease the tension of this closure. Get the practice in on a patient who isn’t writhing and screaming.”

Your mentor stood and wiped his hands on his apron, and promptly set off for the back study of his practice. You replaced him on his stool, scrubbing your hands thoroughly before picking up a scalpel and holding it above a flickering flame.

“Charming,” the cadet commented with a snort. He saw the tiny blade headed for his wound and promptly took another swig of the bottle. Funny, you thought to yourself, to be nervous about a tiny scalpel in comparison to what he has to face outside of the walls.

You gently cut back the fibrous tissue underneath his skin and pulled the edges together to see how it would close. Satisfied with the tension, you replaced your scalpel with the needle holders. Hands steady and determination set, you finished the job Dr. Helfen left you, closing up the wound on the soldier’s side.

“Finished,” you said with satisfaction, putting down the needle holders. You went to a shelf filled with different labeled vials, selecting one. With a clean syringe, you drew up the contents of the vial.

You tapped its side. “To prevent infection,” you informed him when you saw his wary gaze. “Wouldn’t want you to survive all that and have it be a fever or sepsis carry you away in the end.”

Before he could protest about the needle, you injected the contents into his arm.

He grunted. “I take back my comment about being gentle,” he grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his arm.

You smirked and carefully cleaned the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You then took a bandage from the basket that sat nearby and began to wrap it around his torso, covering the suture site. You took a deep breath and rolled out your neck to release the tension that had built there. “All done,” you said with a gentle pat to his bandaged stomach.

“Thank you, Doctor,” the cadet said, a soft smile on his lips.

“Pleasure is all mine,” you replied, reaching for Dr. Helfen’s log book and a pen. “You can finish off that bottle while I record. As soon as I’m done, you are cleared to return to your barracks. Or report to your captain. Or…whatever the protocol is for you scouts.”

The cadet gave you a mock salute before laying back down, tipping the glass to his lips. An infant sucking on a bottle.

You snorted at the sight before beginning to write:

Year 850.

Patient