She doesn't have time to smack him for being so businesslike when she's indulging in dramatics. Of all the people in the world who should understand the need to put on a show when under stress, it's Black Tom Cassidy.

Molotov cries out instead when he disinfects her wound, her nails pressing hard into his arm, her whole face contorted with the severe shock of pain that accompanies the gel. The burn cream is better, cooling enough to let her exhale and loosen her hold, her head falling back to the floor with relief.

"That's good. Don't be a dick to me, Tom."