Another lil Benley collection

Weak

Hope I did this request justice
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The operating room was a sterile sanctuary, humming with the quiet efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Miranda, standing confidently on her trusty step stool. Her focus was unwavering as she navigated the delicate intricacies of the procedure. But beneath the cool composure, a simmering fatigue gnawed at her. Her hands, usually steady, trembled slightly.

The previous night, Ben had been...enthusiastic. A whirlwind of passion, left her feeling drained and utterly spent.

When she woke up still feeling aftershocks it took her by surprise, and she had to pause for a moment to steady herself before leaving her bed. She looked at her husband soundly sleeping she chuckled to herself. But there was nothing funny about the limp to the bathroom or the way she had to ease her clothes on that morning.  She felt like she had either run a marathon or participated in round after round of a wrestling match. And in a way perhaps she did both of those things.

Arriving at work she donned her scrubs and smoothed out her lab coat giving herself a pep talk. She tried to shake off the fatigue as well as the soreness. A woman has a certain walk that can give away her activities and she tried her best to mask it. When taking a step sends a jolt of electricity through your body. It can be hard to cover that up.

Looking over her schedule for the day she drank a cup of coffee, did some stretching, and prayed. Stepping into the OR. However, her body began to betray her.

'Scalpel,' she requested, her voice a low, controlled whisper. The nurse handed her the instrument, her eyes widening slightly at the tremor in Miranda's hand. Miranda, oblivious to the subtle observation, clamped down on the scalpel, forcing her grip to steady.

One of the interns who hadn't quite learned the unspoken rule number 6 of Miranda's 'Her business is not your business' noticed her brief hesitation and asked, "Dr. Bailey, are you okay?"

Without missing a beat and determined to keep the focus on the task at hand, Bailey turned the attention back to the surgery. "What's the next step in this procedure?" she asked her voice as commanding as ever. The intern, slightly flustered but eager to impress, quickly responded with the correct answer, and the surgery continued.

As the surgery progressed, Miranda tried to subtly stretch her legs to ease the discomfort, but it didn't go unnoticed. Another intern, with concern etched on their face, asked, "Dr. Bailey, are you sure you're alright?"

Miranda shot them a look that could cut through steel. "I'm fine. Keep your focus on the patient," she said firmly.

All the while, she had the mind to fuss her husband out immediately after this. She loved how much he adored her, but right now, that love had her nearly teetering on being unable to stand. She mentally noted to have a word with him as soon as she was out of the OR.

She couldn't even pinpoint one source of the weakness; her body ached all over. Even her normally fluid motions in the OR seemed stiff and deliberate today. She mentally shook it off and focused back on her work.

Her focus was laser-sharp, each movement calculated, when an unwelcome pang of discomfort shot through her groin, sending a shiver down her spine.

She paused, momentarily losing her rhythm yet again. The familiar soreness, a sharp reminder of the night before, threatened to distract her.

It was as if her body was mocking her for the reckless abandon with which she and Ben had given in to their desires.

Then she reminded herself: when she does surgery, everything else disappears. The need to eat, the need to drink, the need to go to the bathroom, and these aches and soreness should go away too. Refocusing, she pushed through the discomfort, letting the precision and rhythm of the surgery take over.