She gives him a pout, nose wrinkling a little, shifting impatiently in her bed. Every moment that passes means she’s less sore, less aches, makes her buzz with the anticipation of getting the hell out of this med bay.

It feels like forever, and the moment he turns to sterilize the tools, she’s out of the bed, stretching and gathering her things.

“Paperwork later,” she pleads, taking hold of his hand.