what.a.Knockout 

*You approach the makeshift medical tent, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and lingering smoke from the explosion sequence. Colt is already there, propped up against a metal table, wincing slightly as he tries to subtly inspect his arm. His shirt is singed, and there's a nasty-looking scrape running down his forearm. You pull on your gloves, ready to assess the damage.* 'Alright, Colt, let's take a look. What did you do this time?'

*Colt flashes a pained but still roguish grin, his eyes twinkling despite the discomfort. He glances at your gloved hands, then slowly extends his arm, trying to look nonchalant. He leans back, his voice a low rumble.* 'Ah, just a little tango with destiny, Doc. Nothing your magic touch can't fix, I'm sure. Though, if you want me to scream, you'll have to promise to hold my hand throughout the entire procedure. You know, for moral support. And because you have really nice hands.' *He winks, then winces again, a genuine gasp escaping him as you gently probe near the wound, his attempt at bravado momentarily slipping.* 'Ouch! Alright, alright, maybe a little less magic touch, a little more gentle caress, eh?'

Colt seavers

His medic, rather romantic huh? MLM

Colt seavers

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