Gustave Kateb quietly watched the small demolition expert before him chew and bite at his knuckles, only stopping when he began to taste blood. Frowning, the doctor leaned over his desk, flipping through a new set of medical files. Drumming his fingers on his desk as his eyes scanned the paper for a recruit that would be likely joining them in, ideally, just a few days. Again, his gaze made its way back to the other man, before he sighed deeply. For a moment, he watched, head tilting to the side, before he knit his eyebrows together and opened his desk drawer. Rifling around in it for a moment, he found a roll of gauze.
"Monsieur Dumont," he started, walking over to the smaller man. "Give me your hands. You'll bite through a vein if you keep going at this rate. All of the metal slivers are out from the last mission."
The smaller man narrowed his eyes, holding out one of his hands as he huffed out a soft murmur of, "So worried all the time, Docteur. Can't you calm down for at least a moment? I haven't gotten killed, yet. Shit, I haven't even been wounded to a point you couldn't patch me up easily, Doc!" He noticed a small frown etching itself into the doctor's face as he wrapped his hands, and he sighed and moved to pat his shoulder with his free hand. "Gustave. Six is already concerned. I don't need another parent leering over my shoulder while I'm in the field." Still though, Doc stayed quiet as he tied off the gauze on one hand, then he took the other.
"It's my job to worry, Olivier. Besides, with Six sending you out with Lera and I…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "... It's the best for you if there's two of us. Especially after that stunt you pulled in Surat." Shaking his head as he tied off the bandages, he pushed Olivier back. "Lay down, I need to check the wound. See how it's healing."
The last mission both the Frenchmen had together, Olivier had gotten caught by shrapnel from a frag. It tore into his side pretty badly, and Doc had shouted at Rook to keep the smaller man down so he wouldn't injure himself any more. Sighing, Doc shook his head and pushed Olivier's shirt up over where dirtied gauze settled. Grabbing a clean pair of latex gloves, he pulled off his previous pair, before pulling on the other. Slowly, he began to pull the gauze off, before looking back up at Olivier, frowning disapprovingly.
"You never properly cleaned your wounds, Olivier. You need to clean your wounds, or I will have someone drag you here so I can clean them," he scolded, pulling the rest of the gauze away, and throwing it into the bin. Walking over towards his cupboards, he pulled out clean gauze pads, and other various things he would need to clean and dress the wounds. "Now," he started, setting everything down, before grabbing and wetting a washcloth. "Do I really need to go over how to clean a wound again, like I was teaching a child?"
Olivier grimaced, propping himself up on his elbows at he looked at the doctor. "No, I don't. I'm perfectly capable of cleaning my wounds. I just can't tell when they need to-"
"Not an excuse. Look at them daily. Now, sit still. I'm guessing this will feel weird," Doc interrupted with a sharp snip, before gently starting to clean the wound. Olivier squirmed a bit, but not from pain. The squirming was only from the feeling of something touching the wound, the pressure of the washcloth on damaged flesh. After a few moments of the discomfort of Doc touching the wound, Olivier growled and gently pushed Doc's hands away, sitting up fully and glaring as he kept his shirt pinned up against his side with his arm. "... Olivier," he started, tone that of warning.
"It's uncomfortable, Gustave. Just get it over with, alright?" Olivier's tone was strained, like the words were trapped in the back of his throat. Even with the fact that he couldn't feel what would cause normal men to squirm out of pain, uttering whines and soft sobs.
(Olivier had heard Thermite's complaints about Doc cleaning out his wounds, and he was secretly glad that he didn't need to suffer through the pain the other Operators did.)
Frowning, Doc looked at him and partially crossed his arms. "I can't get it over with if you don't sit still, Olivier. I'll need to take longer cleaning it, and that means that you'll still be uncomfortable from how the cloth feels in the wound," he said, calmly. "So, will you please lay back down so I can finish?" He arched his brow as he watched the smaller man sigh and nod. Smiling kindly, he gently set his hand against Olivier's chest.
Olivier laid back down as Doc's hand pressed against his chest, though it wasn't without a soft noise of complaint. The two lapsed into silence as Gustave finished cleaning the wound, and started to redress it. Quietly looking around the office, the small demolitionist sighed. The walls were too white, the room too clean all together. Even the few posters that the doctor had hung up barely brightened up the walls - they were mostly medical diagrams, after all, and a print of a drawing that one of the newer recruits had given him. Feeling a soft pat on his side, Olivier sat up.
"You're done. Now, go get something to eat, you know what you can and can't have." The doctor couldn't help but sigh a bit as Olivier slipped off the table, feet hitting the ground lightly. Watching as he started to the door, Doc began to pull off the gloves he wore.
"Oh, right!" Olivier turned to look at him as he reached the door. "Dom said he and Jordan were going out for drinks tonight, if you want to join. They asked me to ask you, so." He shrugged, jamming his hand in his pocket.
Thinking for a moment, he snorted softly through his nose as he nodded. "I may just take you three up on that offer. That is, if I don't have anyone I need to tend to."
"I'll see you then, if you decide to join, Docteur." Opening the door, the small man slipped out of the office, leaving Gustave alone, in the quiet of his office. Sighing softly, he walked over to the door and pulled it shut fully.