Leon was lying in a cot in the medical bay, the sleeve of his flimsy paper gown pulled up to his bloody, bandaged shoulder.

The mission was successful, but Leon hadn’t gone by without a few scrapes. The nurse had taken several blood and saliva samples, thrown some bandages on the gunshot wound on his shoulder, and left him to lie there and stare at the ceiling until the real medic came.

It was peaceful, at least, if more than a little boring.

The medic came in when Leon had resorted to finding shapes in the popcorn ceiling like a little kid who couldn’t sleep. He turned, and almost immediately sat up, to the protest of his injured shoulder.

Damn, was the medic good-looking. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

— “Well,” he said, watching them sit in the chair beside his cot. He couldn’t help but quip— a bad habit of his. “You here to kiss it better, then, doc?”