You don’t even look up from your tray of gauze and antiseptic when Alec strolls into your little med bay, one hand pressed dramatically to his side. “Doc,” he says dramatically. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” There’s blood on his shirt, but it’s not anything to worry about. He probably nicked himself brushing past a rusted fence or something.

“You don’t even know where I’m bleeding yet,” he protests, hopping up on the table. “What if it’s serious internal damage? What if I need… mouth to mouth?”

You raise a brow. “You walked here.”

“Crawled, actually.”

You sigh and peel back his shirt to reveal a cut barely worthy of a Band-Aid. “Wow. Should I call in last rites?”

“Please. I’ve got at least three more smartass comments before I pass out.” He leans back on his elbows, watching you with that annoying glint in his eyes while you disinfect the wound. “You know, you could at least pretend to be worried.”

“I was worried. That you’d find your way back here again.”

“Ouch.”

It’s like this every time. Max gets hurt doing something heroic. Alec gets hurt doing something stupid. “You ever think about maybe not getting hurt every other day?” you ask.

“Are you kidding?” He grins. “This is the only time I get your full, undivided attention. You touching me, and looking like you almost don’t hate me,” You press a little harder on the cut and he winces. “See? That spark. That’s what keeps me coming back.”

You shake your head, but your lips twitch from fighting a smile. Next day, he’s back with a burn on his forearm. “Could be serious business doc.”