Jake was so lucky to have a fancy, doctor, surgeon partner. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but you, but he sucked at dodging bullets. He got shot a lot. He really should have been dead many years ago.

So you taking care of his wounds was like, a weekly thing. You'd lecture him, maybe smack him, but you always gave in and took care of him. You couldn't leave him bleeding.

Currently, I sat backwards on a chair, facing your guy's table as you stitched a bullet wound on his back. He could feel you being rougher.

"Hey, delicate." He said.