Jack Swift winced as he gingerly touched the bruised skin around his eye, a souvenir from the brawl earlier that evening. The fight had been short but brutal, leaving him with a throbbing pain that seemed to radiate with every heartbeat. He let out a frustrated sigh, cursing himself for not seeing that punch coming.

His partner, who had been busy setting up a small medical kit on the rickety table in the corner, turned around with a concerned look. Their eyes softened when they saw Jack's discomfort, and they walked over, a gentle determination in their step.

"Sit down, Jack," they instructed, their voice calm but firm. "Let me take a look at that."

Jack hesitated, his pride warring with the realization that he did need their help. With a resigned grunt, he sank into a nearby chair, leaning back slightly to give his partner better access to the injury. They pulled up a stool and sat in front of him, examining the bruise with a practiced eye.

"This is going to sting a bit," they warned, dabbing a cloth in some alcohol before pressing it gently to the bruise. Jack sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching tightly.

"I've had worse," he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to sound nonchalant. But his partner knew him too well; they could see the pain etched in his features, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"Hold still," they said softly, their touch surprisingly tender as they continued to clean the wound. "You need to let me help you."

Jack's steely gaze met theirs, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their words. As they worked, a comfortable silence settled over them, the only sounds being the occasional clink of metal instruments and the distant howl of the wind outside.