a little place called trust

"If you insist," Isla murmurs with a grin, having moved to a drawer to get a pair of scissors and a scalpel blade that she might give his curls the proper attention ready for surgery. (The blade is for shaving, not cutting, to be clear). "I don't much like the gowns either. And I suppose you're right - since you're here now, you're the only emergency I will have time for in the foreseeable future." Approaching the stool once more, she smiles gratefully as Nate leans down for her, looking over him now with a physician's eye to decide which side is best for the surgery she's looking to perform. "Is that so?" She raises her eyebrows as he speaks again, though not for the first time there's a little bit of hesitation that sinks in the pit of her stomach. "You can change your mind about this, you know," Isla says softly, searching out Nate's eyes since they're practically at the same level now. "I can find someone else if you're not sure. I don't want you to get stuck doing something just because it might be a bit of research for me." Isla the flesh is weak