Attempting to write myself out a bit of rustiness thanks to the prompts at the tumblr WriteWorld. All drabbles in this collection are somewhat stream of consciousness with a bit of editing before posting.

"I have nearly died too many times today."

She placed another butterfly stitch across the laceration to his forehead, trying to avoid his very close eye-line and concentrate on his wound. Janet was going to have to restitch this. "I think you've actually died too many times for a lifetime, sir."

His body jerked in a soundless, humourless chuckle. "True."

He hissed as she pressed harder to attach another stitch – they were in the bottom of her pack and probably a little old now. "Sorry, one more."

"Your bedside manner leaves a little to be desired, Doctor."

"It might be better if I was that kind of doctor," she smiled, her thumbs pressing at the edges of the band-aid while her fingers thread into his hair above his ears.

"Should I be worried about scarring?" he asked with mock seriousness.


"My Grandpa told me 'chicks dig scars' when I got into my first fight in a hockey game. That true, Carter?"

She sat back on her heels, her fingers nimbly picking up the wrappers while she extricated herself from his spread knees. "They like the daring stories of often-made-up heroism attached to the scars, sir."


"How did you get this scar?" she asked, a smirk tilting her lips.

"Fighting off a hoard of enemy insurgents with just a stick and my bare hands, naturally."

"Ah yes. So not trying to retrieve your boot from an alien rodent-type creature, losing your footing and hitting your head on a rock?"

"A stick and my bare hands, Carter."

She fought a laugh, "Yes, sir."