Elias rolled his ankle on the ball of his foot, then rolled the other. He didn't know the music in the background but neither did he particularly care: the Swedish pop music was sung too fast for him to catch onto the words and the music looped the same candy-coated tune so often that it had become white noise.
His eyes were fixed on the aortic aneurysm currently under repair, his nose twitching a little under the mask as he watched Dr. Sjöwall's hands move deftly, surprising considering the Chief of Surgery's age. The graft that he'd meticulously cut was nearly sewn into place and Elias found, as he always did during surgery, that his hands itched to be inside the tall man suffering on the table. In this setting? With these tools? He could do anything. After all, he'd done similar in far worse conditions.
He bound his hands together behind his back in an attempt to ignore the compulsion to do and looked up from the chest cavity to see a familiar face.
His eyes were fixed on the aortic aneurysm currently under repair, his nose twitching a little under the mask as he watched Dr. Sjöwall's hands move deftly, surprising considering the Chief of Surgery's age. The graft that he'd meticulously cut was nearly sewn into place and Elias found, as he always did during surgery, that his hands itched to be inside the tall man suffering on the table. In this setting? With these tools? He could do anything. After all, he'd done similar in far worse conditions.
He bound his hands together behind his back in an attempt to ignore the compulsion to do and looked up from the chest cavity to see a familiar face.