"You're not dying, Molotov. Don't be dramatic. It'll give you wrinkles."

He doesn't have time to meet her eyes. He's looking through what she brought with her, instead. There- there! In the supplies, a medical kit. He snaps it open and rummages through it until he finds a tube with familiar ingredients.

"This is going to hurt like the devil, so hold my arm." She can leave bruises on his bicep if she wants. He half-empties the tube of antiseptic onto the injury, then follows it with burn gel. "And for what it's worth, I already got three of them for you."