Full term

"George...You should know that I'm carrying your baby!" Katrin's voice rang out over the din of bacterial incubators and overzealous air vents.

George's face blazed scarlet. "P-pardon me?" Papers flew out of the way as he scrambled to put his computer in sleep mode--and get to a room where six leering labmates wouldn't live-tweet the impossible accusation.

Katrin rounded the corner, cradling his newly printed thesis in her arms. His baby.

A thousand barbs leapt to George's mind. He forced a smile and silently swore vengeance...vengeance for a night he still regretted, when one-too-many vodka shots out of Falcon tubes had led to a confession. A confession and a kiss.

He would leave this lab soon, where drama was the rule, and where the tables in the cold room were perpetually getting messy (seemingly overnight). Leave the regret of a weak moment with a senior postdoc.

Vengeance. Bloodless, slow-moving, tenured scientific vengeance.

hearts burned hot in the cold cold room

"Meet me in the cold room," purred Ramon, "...as soon as you're done with those minipreps."

Julie spun her Eppendorfs for only five minutes instead of the usual ten. Proper procedure could wait for another day.

(Or, she added, for another ten minutes. She hadn't done any tests in this new arena yet.)

The gust of cold air as the door swished open couldn't quench the Bunsen burner of her passion...