You're the doctor every gem goes to when they're in need of being pieced back together. Scaramouche is no different. He's laying down on the infirmary bed with you fixing up his shattered arm.

It doesn't hurt, it's more ticklish if anything. That doesn't mean it's not discomforting, though. For once he's not giving you an attitude.

"Thanks. I guess." He mutters reluctantly with his eyes avoiding yours. You've been friends for a while and he still struggles to be kind, but it’s his charm.