Connor couldn’t help cracking a small smile at Abby’s humor, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. He knew he was being overly dramatic and a bit too paranoid. Possibly a bit childish, especially since Abby’s offer to stay was pretty appealing. If nothing more he’d be less likely to bolt because she’ll just tackle him and drag him back.

Before he could say as much the door opened and he looked down at the nurse, trying to put a polite smile on his face. Damn him being well raised.

He didn’t feel much like giving his name just in case the woman did rat him out to the ‘proper authority’s’ and entered into the room. He sat down heavily on the the examination table with a loud crinckling of the paper.

He removed the rag from the gash on his arm, the blood had mostly started to clot so the bleeding wasn’t as bad as before. Disinfecting it was going to hurt like a bitch though, especially considering he hadn’t been using the most sterile rag to stop the blood flow.

He tossed the horror show rag next to him and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, looking around at the water color painting’s Abby mentioned. 

She had been right, they were too...pretty and soft to be hinting at anything ominous lurking behind the Major’s smile.

Connor looked over at Abby and was suddenly struck with the memory of when his mother took him to the doctor’s as a child. The thought of his mother, his family sent a stab of pain through him. The clarity with which he remembered it was a bonus sharp little twist to his chest.

“You don’t have to stay here Abby.” Connor said, his voice calm and betraying nothing of the sudden heartache he was feeling. “I’m sure you have a lot of better things to do than baby sit a twenty-five year old man with a paper cut. Or engine cut. Metal is sharp, don’t forget that.” He said importantly with a sagely nod of his head.

“But anyway, I think I’m fine. No I know I’m fine. The pretty watercolors have me convinced. I won’t run away.” He assured her, glancing over at Devika when he heard her rustling around. A needle used for suturing was sitting on a little metal tray covered with blue cloth and he had to look away with a sharp breath. He focused on Abby again and tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

He hated needles.