Suddenly, the jukebox sprang to life and started playing “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. A man sat down about two seats from you, ordering a drink. You glanced over and noticed his heavy jacket, and his moody face.
“Something I can help you with?” he asked. You cleared your throat, aware that you'd been staring at him.
“No, I just....the song and your jacket. Are you cold or something?”
His lips slightly twitched upward as he took a drink. “I guess you could say that.”
“And yet you're drinking vodka? With ice? I sense a pattern here,” you teased. He cleared his throat and turned slightly to look at you.
“It's not the temperature I like so much as the rush that goes along with it. The cold hand grasping at your heart for a fraction of a second and the adrenaline that follows.”
You looked at the bartender. “Give me what he's having.” H
Leonard grunted as you touched his cheek.
“Did that hurt?” you asked.
He peered up at you. “It's not like you can do any worse than him.”
You raised an eyebrow. The former thief was sitting shirtless on your examining table, ugly bruises and welts covering the majority of his skin. He had lost quite a bit of blood from his little scuffle with Mick. And yet, his trademark smirk was still fixed on his face.
“Fair enough.” You stepped across the room and grabbed some bandages. “I went and saw Mick first, you know. He didn't have nearly as much facial scarring.”
His smirk faded. “Facial scarring?” he repeated.
You were Captain Hunter's medical officer. While Gideon was able to offer observations about the crew's conditions, Hunter had decided that it would be best to have an actual person there when things got rough. Like right now.
“Relax, Snart. The swe