[M*A*S*H: Drabble] "Dr. Slow" [G]
Title: Dr. Slow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #01 October table of doom, prompt #04 ‘surgical steel’
Word Count: 337
Original/Fandom: M*A*S*H (post-series)
Character(s): B.J. Hunnicutt
Summary: B.J. has a reputation for methodical work.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Dr. Slow
Sometimes, before an operation, he stopped and just stared at his tools - every type of scalpel, retractor, clamp and probe known to medical science, laid out on the sterile tray in neat rows of gleaming surgical steel.
“Doctor?” said a voice, from very far away. “Dr. Hunnicutt, are you okay?”
B.J. blinked at his chief surgical nurse. “I’m fine, sorry. Ready to operate if you are.”
She gave him a familiar skeptical look, but let it go. Her name was Margaret, too, but that was where the similarities ended - she was barely five feet tall, with a halo of dark curls and a tendency to whisper prayers in Spanish during operations.
B.J. picked up his first instrument with no more than another glance at the tray, and began.
He worked slowly, methodically, double-checking each thing he did before moving on to the next. This was a planned surgery, removing a gall bladder, and he had time to make sure it was done right.
All of his surgeries were planned, now, written on the board outside the surgical wing in Margaret’s neat Catholic-school cursive.
Some of the younger doctors and nurses called him “Dr. Slow” - he had heard them talking in the lounges, when they didn’t know he was there, gossiping at the way he always took his time. Several mentioned that it was probably a good thing that he’d never been scheduled in the ER, seeing as he worked so slowly.
B.J. had no intention of correcting them. He’d done enough emergency medicine to last a lifetime - he felt that he deserved a career of planned, boring surgeries. There was no need for these kids to know about the stuff of his nightmares, the ones that woke him in a cold sweat, so real that for a moment, waking up next to Peg felt like the dream.
“Okay,” he said, now, setting down his gleaming scalpel. “We’re ready to close. Let’s do this properly, everyone, slow and steady.”
Margaret’s eyes smiled behind her surgical mask. “Yes, doctor.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #01 October table of doom, prompt #04 ‘surgical steel’
Word Count: 337
Original/Fandom: M*A*S*H (post-series)
Character(s): B.J. Hunnicutt
Summary: B.J. has a reputation for methodical work.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Dr. Slow
Sometimes, before an operation, he stopped and just stared at his tools - every type of scalpel, retractor, clamp and probe known to medical science, laid out on the sterile tray in neat rows of gleaming surgical steel.
“Doctor?” said a voice, from very far away. “Dr. Hunnicutt, are you okay?”
B.J. blinked at his chief surgical nurse. “I’m fine, sorry. Ready to operate if you are.”
She gave him a familiar skeptical look, but let it go. Her name was Margaret, too, but that was where the similarities ended - she was barely five feet tall, with a halo of dark curls and a tendency to whisper prayers in Spanish during operations.
B.J. picked up his first instrument with no more than another glance at the tray, and began.
He worked slowly, methodically, double-checking each thing he did before moving on to the next. This was a planned surgery, removing a gall bladder, and he had time to make sure it was done right.
All of his surgeries were planned, now, written on the board outside the surgical wing in Margaret’s neat Catholic-school cursive.
Some of the younger doctors and nurses called him “Dr. Slow” - he had heard them talking in the lounges, when they didn’t know he was there, gossiping at the way he always took his time. Several mentioned that it was probably a good thing that he’d never been scheduled in the ER, seeing as he worked so slowly.
B.J. had no intention of correcting them. He’d done enough emergency medicine to last a lifetime - he felt that he deserved a career of planned, boring surgeries. There was no need for these kids to know about the stuff of his nightmares, the ones that woke him in a cold sweat, so real that for a moment, waking up next to Peg felt like the dream.
“Okay,” he said, now, setting down his gleaming scalpel. “We’re ready to close. Let’s do this properly, everyone, slow and steady.”
Margaret’s eyes smiled behind her surgical mask. “Yes, doctor.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow