Hello beautiful readers! I'm so happy to be back with this story and hope you enjoy as well. Spoken Arabic will be signified by bold and italics. And as always please don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

"Motherfu—" Elizabeth yelped, her steaming mug of tea shattered as she grasped the foot she'd just stubbed on her newly acquired wrought iron operating table. She hopped up and down, squeezing her eyes shut to force out the sudden white pain, holding in a plethora of colorful curses. After several moments she felt it ease to somewhat manageable.

With a heavy sigh the English doctor limped across the room and slumped into her desk chair. It had become habit now to make herself as many cups of tea as possible before her bladder exploded, just to occupy her mind. And for research, she'd tell herself. Now with her only mug shattered she must find another way to entertain herself between the random patient.

Over the next three hours she watched a deep yellow sunbeam grow and travel across the fresh tile of her practice. Before the sun set, she skipped to the market to buy a proper tea set.

She had not seen Ardeth in weeks, or anyone for that matter, which weighed on her more than she'd like to admit. Elizabeth had only one or two patients every couple of days for the first week, though it had given her enough time to construct, obsessively, the building she had bought on the inside to suit her needs to run her clinic in this time of solitude.

Even now, most days were still slow, like this. But she tried to chalk it up to lack of visibility. One day she'll look back on times like this and hope for a moment to breathe.

Though, the next day she was becoming slightly discouraged. She bite into an apple and worked on her Arabic. The one good thing about the quiet slowness meant she could practice on her pronunciation and memorization. And she was becoming quite good.

It was a particularly hot day and it was loud outside. A quiet knock from the front door could hardly be differentiated from horse gallops, rickety wooden carts trucking along, yells and arguments out in the markets. But she was certain she heard it.

Slowly Elizabeth stood, still uncertain if it had been in her imagination or not. She opened the door and found three sets of shy dark brown eyes looking up at her, one with tears streaming down his face. Two boys and a girl.

"Are you a doctor?" One of the boys asked asked in Arabic. The lot of them could not have been more than eight or nine.

"Yes I am. What is the matter?"

The one in the middle, the crying one lifted his arm up to reveal a bloody stump. Elizabeth's eyes widened while the other brought up a linen wrapped eviscerated hand.

"How long ago did this happen?" Elizabeth rushed the three children in and slammed the door behind her. She picked up the one who's hand was missing, who swayed from blood loss.

"Just happened m'am." Elizabeth nodded at the girl and sat the boy on the operating table. She quickly wrapped the boy's arm in gauze to stop the bleeding.

"Can one of you grab a bucket of ice from the back and rest the hand in it?" The other boy shot off to the back as she assessed the damage. It was a clean cut, most likely due to how small the boy's wrist was and how undoubtedly large the knife was. She looked up at the boy who had tears down his cheeks but was otherwise calm. "Can you tell me what happened?" Elizabeth asked as the other boy returned with ice and placed the hand on top. She grabbed her apron and equipment case. She would need several clamps and hands if this was to work.

"We were just hungry," the girl spoke for the boy, "Amil tried to get us aish baladi but the mean man caught him and cut my brother's hand off." She broke into tears and Elizabeth quickly hugged her.

Kneeling down to her height, Elizabeth said softly, "It is alright, I will try to help your brother. Will you tell me your names?"

"I am Sachi, and this is our cousin Eban." She said, her voice breaking as Elizabeth went back to Amil.

"Wonderful, Sachi, Eban I will need your help to save Amil's hand. Do you think you can help me?" They nodded, wiping tears. "Sachi I'm going to have you hand me things and Eban I will have you replace the gauze, okay?" They nodded again and Elizabeth went straight to work, she handed gloves to the both of them and handed the bloody gauze to Eban who disposed of it quickly and handed her another clump of it. She pointed to a scalpel in the bag and Sachi handed it to her quickly. "Eban can you place the hand on the table. Thank you."

She was secretive about it, inserting a small dose of morphine into the boy's arm. It would do the child no good to feel pain like this, nor would it do any good to remember this moment as more a trauma than it already was.

The first thing she was going to do was shorten the tissue in the hand, the tension from the stitches she was going to use might be too much for his small arm to handle so she had to give it a little slack. She clinched the veins and the vessels with taught tweezers and began to work on the arm and its tendons and muscles.

"Amil, are you doing okay?" He nodded and blinked slowly. "Tell me, what's your favorite thing to do?"

Amil paused, "I like to fish with my grandpa."

"Is that so? What type of fish do you catch?" She asked, stitching the veins together slowly, carefully. Then the arteries.

"Barbel, my grandma grills them over a fire with cardamom paste. They are very good."

"Oh that sounds delicious. You'll have to catch me one sometime." She smiled, easing his mind as she began to stitch the wrist and the arm together. It took everything within her to keep from shaking. She had to do this successfully, or this boy couldn't continue to fish for his family.

"I caught one that was bigger than my arm once."

"Oh is that true?" Elizabeth smiled and looked at Sachi.

"More like bigger than your leg." His sister said laughing, making him laugh too. Elizabeth smiled and continued with the stitching.

"I don't believe I've seen a fish that big! You must be playing a trick!" Elizabeth insisted as she finished the stitching. She elevated his arm on a small box and placed two wooden rods on either side of his wrist.

"No it's true! We ate on it for a week!" Eban said, still diligent with helping Elizabeth, carrying gauze to the trash. He handed her another wheel of gauze.

"Well I'll have to see it to believe it. Will you catch me a big fish like that Amil?"

"Yes if…will…will my hand be okay?" He asked watching her wrap his wrist. Elizabeth was shocked he was still conscious, but she knew afterward he'd probably be asleep for days.

"I think it will, Amil. I will write down instructions for you and you must follow them, okay?" She ordered and he nodded numbly. Suddenly the door opened and a woman waddled in loudly calling for Amil.

"Grandma!" Sachi ran to into her arms.

"I was so worried about you children, you should not have run off like that. The merchant told me what happened and I am not happy—"

"No Grandma! Amil is okay! The doctor saved his hand!"

"What?" The older woman walked up to Elizabeth and looked at Amil's arm, now wrapped in a splint and seemingly together. "Is this true?"

"Yes, m'am. He should be able to move his fingers in a week, but only if he comes back to see me every couple of days so we can practice the movement together and he follows my instructions at home." The old woman stepped up to Elizabeth with tears in her eyes, she rested both hands on Elizabeth's cheeks and nodded her head up and down.

"Allah bless you, Allah bless you." She repeated and Elizabeth breathed out for the first time in two hours. She let out a haggard breath and nearly collapsed herself into the grandmother's arms.

Elizabeth felt like a weight was lifted from her shoulders, the reality of what she'd just done setting in. She had replaced fingers before, but never an entire hand. It was never necessary in the war, if a soldier had lost a hand or a foot they would simply be sent home. If her intuition was correct, she had replaced the hand successfully and little Amil would be able to go on and fish with his grandfather whenever he wished.

"What is your name, doctor?" The grandmother asked.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, pulling herself out of her daze.

"Elizabeth."

"Doctor Eliza-bet." The grandmother said in English, her thick accent cornering off the soft end of her name. And in many ways she almost liked it better. "I am Fatima. Forgive my grandchildren, they don't usually get into such mischief." As she spoke Elizabeth thought Fatima seemed rather young for a grandmother. With long hair pulled back in a loose plait with a few sprigs of wiry grays breaking up an otherwise bottomless shade of black and sparkling brown eyes just like the children. She was beautiful.

After a moment Elizabeth realized that Fatima was still talking and she shook herself again from her reverie.

"I apologize, what was that?" Elizabeth asked a bit sheepishly.

"How much do we owe you?"

Elizabeth blinked and looked back at Amil, now peacefully resting in a chair by the door cradling his hand.

"Nothing. Nothing." Fatima's eyebrows raised and she shook her head.

"No, we must owe you something?"

Elizabeth smiled softly and shook her head. There is no way on this Earth she would ever feel comfortable charging for a surgery that wouldn't have needed to happen, had the children not been hungry or a bit naive.

"Only bring Amil to me every other day for the next two weeks so I may check on the healing progress of his hand." Elizabeth said and Fatima sighed, taking her hand.

"Thank you, Doctor Eliza-bet." Elizabeth loved her new name.

The small family left shortly afterward. After closing the door she turned to the ravaged and bloody mess that was her operating table and couldn't help but laugh. Deciding to rest for a moment she took a seat back at her desk and decided to log her day and her patient in a brown leather notebook.

It took her a while, first writing in English on the left then copying on the opposite page in Arabic. Good practice, she thought. Hopefully one day these records would be useful to someone.

The sun was nearing the horizon when she finished. Pouring herself a glass of wine and spinning up a record, Elizabeth got to work cleaning the operating table. All in all it wasn't too much of a mess but still needed to be dealt with.

After cleaning the table spotless, Elizabeth sat herself up on the operating table and laid down. The empty wine glass balanced on her stomach haphazardly floating between her hands. The sun was fully set, a deep blue darkness coated Cairo in a way she loved so much.

A bated sigh exited her lips and her eyes closed, exhaustion taking over her body. The record ticked off with a soft click and the rooms were filled with silence.

Crickets started singing, quiet at first with bursts of melodic chirping. Perhaps it was her imagination but even the crickets sounded different here. Everything was different here, sometimes in the slightest of ways. Different, but utterly perfect.

Elizabeth thought of Ardeth then. She wondered what he was doing this very moment, if he was thinking of her as often as she thought of him. It brought great comfort to imagine him laying not in his bed, but in the sand, belly full of spiced foods and tea, looking up at the stars and thinking of her.

An awkward creak from the front door suddenly pulled Elizabeth from her reverie. She looked at the door through the darkness, as if her eyes would somehow help her ears hear better.

The crickets were quieted, encouraged by what could only be movement outside. Quietly, Elizabeth rolled off the operating table, glass still in hand.

Her bare feet hardly made a pat on the tile as she tiptoed to the door, still listening. Another creak. As she moved closer, silently, there was more shuffling on the other side.

At the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, a small white envelope started to peek through. Elizabeth's heart beat faster and deeper as she quickly yanked the door open.

While she wasn't completely expecting to find Ardeth what she wasn't expecting was a small, wide-eyed, sharply dressed and startled Egyptian man with a fluffy red fez atop his head.

"Oh—oh!" He bumbled, standing up straight with the letter in his hands.

"Can I help you?" Elizabeth asked, observing the man who now seemed to have control of his flustered state.

"I apologize madam, for startling you." The man spoke in perfect English, pressing down his tie.

"I feel the apology should go both ways." Elizabeth said, trying not to chuckle at the memory of his wide eyes. The man held the envelope out between the two of them. Elizabeth took it from his hand hesitantly and flipped it over. In Ardeth's delicate handwriting was her name.

She sighed internally, which exited her mouth like a stilted breath. So this was the man who had been delivering their letters.

"Would you like to come in for tea?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh—I better not—"

"I insist."

The man resolved in a closed lip smile, "Well, if you insist."

Elizabeth gestured to the stairwell adjacent to the door, inviting him in. Up the stairs was her flat which was sporadically furnished with beautiful pieces she'd found in the surrounding markets. Now, she had become quite good as haggling in Arabic when she felt the prices were too high. Though sometimes she just did it for fun.

Lighting a couple candles and sconces the room lit up in a warm yellow glow. She shuffled some papers off the small round table at the balcony and gestured for the man to take a seat.

The kettle boiled and she brought over two tea cups and some sugar. The man happily scooped three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and stirred vigorously, which made Elizabeth smile softly.

"I'm Elizabeth, by the way, but I'm certain you know that already."

"Yes, I am well acquainted with who you are, Dr. Bender-Whitmore. My name is Terence Bey. Doctor Terence Bey."

"Are you a Medjai?" She asked, watching him take a happy first sip of tea. Then he nodded.

"I am the contact in Cairo for the Medjai, while also holding a curator position here at the Museum of Antiquities." He spoke with an air about him that made Elizabeth certain he was very well educated—the 'doctor' referring then only to a doctorate of study, non-medical. And it certainly offered clue to his strange way of dress.

"Well, it's a pleasure, Dr. Bey."

Terence bowed his head, "I must say the pleasure is all mine. You are even lovelier than Ardeth has described. I was hoping for a proper meeting soon, but with Ardeth tied up I suppose this will have to do."

A flush hit her then when she thought of Ardeth talking about her to the other Medjai she'd yet to meet.

"What do you mean 'tied up'?" Elizabeth questioned, glancing at the note still in her hands. She quickly opened the letter and read through it quickly.

'Elizabeth,

I apologize I have not yet found the time to see you. Though there has been word floating around the French Foreign Legion taking up camp in the near East, we must be cautious of their presence and entrance into Hamanaptra all the same. I will send word as soon as I can make my way to you, my love.

Please stay safe,

Ardeth'

Elizabeth folded the letter back up and looked back up to Terence. His expression changed from contemplative to worry at the expression on her face.

"Oh dear, is everything alright?"

Elizabeth bit her lip and looked away from the man in the fez to the floor. She felt a hand warmly fall to her own.

"This is just a lot harder than I thought it was going to be." Elizabeth said, trying not to lose her nerve. Terence hummed and rubbed her hand comfortingly. "I knew I would have to sacrifice seeing him but it's been nearly six weeks and I…"

"If I may, Elizabeth…" Terence started and she looked at him, "Ardeth is Chieftain of the Medjai and holds a great responsibility. It must always come first."

"I know. I know." Elizabeth took a hesitant sip of tea. And said, if only to herself, "Just like my clinic."

"If it is any consolation, the bond you and Ardeth share has not lost any light. Though it is in no way sanctified by the court, I know Ardeth can think of little else but you. He doesn't talk much on the subject, but I've known him since he was a boy—I can tell when his mind is occupied by something outside of the Medjai."

Elizabeth felt a bit wrong for finding comfort in his words, "Thank you."

Terence gave her hand a couple of soft pats before returning to his tea cup.

"If it's all the same, he'll be very happy to hear about the boy you saved today."

"How—how do you know about that?" Elizabeth's head tilted to the side in confusion. Was he spying on her?

"How could I not? It's all anyone can talk about after that Fatima Elmahdy won't shut her yap for a single moment concerning the subject." Elizabeth felt a small smile grow, thinking of the young grandmother. Of course she would have reason to shout it to the heavens, she came to Elizabeth's practice thinking she had lost of grandson. Terence continued, "Though I am aware it is no small feat, mind you. How did you manage to reattach a boy's hand?"

Elizabeth sipped her tea, "Like you said, no small feat." She coughed suddenly, quietly at first into her arm. "Excuse me for a moment."

She stood and rushed to the bathroom, concealing her muscle-tightening coughs. In the bathroom she hovered over the sink, feeling her throat and chest on fire. After another few coughs she felt a hot liquid in her throat and spit a thick red glob into the otherwise spotless porcelain surface.

Catch your breath, Lizzy. She told herself. And after a few moments she did. A couple sips of water, and she swished the taste of metal from her teeth and tongue.

Terence knocked on the door from the other side, "Are you quite alright, Elizabeth? Are you ill?"

"No, no—I'm fine." She wiped her mouth and opened the door. "I must have caught a bit of the Southern wind in my lungs."

Terence, confused, watched her walk past him back to the table on the balcony. She looked at him.

"Would you like another cup of tea?" Elizabeth asked, already pouring one for him. Terence obliged and returned to his seat.

The two doctors chatted for the rest of the quiet evening. Elizabeth learned a lot about the Medjai, or only what she suspected Terence was willing to divulge. Most things like their traditional, nomad-esque tendencies or their obligations to the sanctity of the ancient order were all things Elizabeth knew, but it was nice to an encyclopedic phrasing to instill the practices in her mind.

That evening Elizabeth fell asleep thinking of Ardeth, as she did most nights, tangled in a heap of linen sheets. Where he was, what he was doing—what he was thinking of—himself.

A soft breeze drift through the open windows, tickling the wind chimes hanging from the canopy of the balcony, operating the most elegant improvised tune. It was ancient, the wind, she thought. In her quiet, hazy mind—drifting in and out of unconsciousness—Elizabeth imagined the wind had arms, and imagine the arms wrapping themselves around her from behind tightly, comforting, like Ardeth's arms. And that tickle of the wind softly agitating the ends of her hair on her bare shoulders was not the wind at all, but Ardeth's sleeping breath.