"ASAP, don't you think?" is her reply to his question, though she's too busy watching his hand holding hers to look up to see his face. Those long, brown fingers have literally held her life in them more times than she can really count, both from high up and from much closer to home, slippery with her blood as he's patched her up until they could manage to get her to a medevac.

He's always touched her gently, she realizes. Even when he's had to pin her down so he could bandage her wounds, his hands haven't hurt her. That means something. She's just trying to process what.

"Thank you." She places her chin on the palm of her free hand, her elbow propped up on the table, and smiles at him. "They were a gift."