A/N – I'm not sure why my brain finds Racter so weirdly attractive, but it does, so here we are :)
The sound of labored breathing echoed throughout the converted engine room.
Enobaria was perched on the edge of Racter's work bench, her teeth gritted and her eyes closed. "Are you done yet?"
Racter's hands were cool and methodical against her skin. "Almost."
Another sharp spike of pain. Enobaria hissed. "It hurts more now. You should have just let me walk it off."
Racter didn't bother looking up. "That would have been … unadvisable, my friend."
Irritation flashed through Enobaria's voice. "It's just a scratch."
He continued his work. "Anything that requires thirty stiches is not a scratch."
"Fine. Just promise you won't tell Duncan, the last thing I need right now is a lecture."
"On my honor," he replied. Even with her eyes closed, Enobaria could tell he was smirking.
She snorted. "For whatever that's worth."
"You wound me."
"I very much doubt that."
A moment later, and he was done.
She inspected his handiwork. "Not bad. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get a new scar out of it."
Racter regarded her coolly, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "You do seem to have quite the collection."
Enobaria was suddenly distinctly aware that her bloodied shirt was balled up on the ground. Goosebumps rose to the surface of her skin, although whether it was from the coolness of the room or the fact that Racter hadn't moved away from her, she wasn't sure.
In any event, he was still looking at her, regarding her with his cold grey eyes.
He cocked his head to the side. "Why do you keep them? They could easily be removed."
"I don't won't to forget," she answered simply. At his questioning look, she continued. "I don't allow myself to make mistakes more than once. Every scar is a lesson. It shows me something I did wrong and reminds me not to do that again. Each scar makes me a better fighter."
"Each the mark of a superior iteration?"
She gave him a crooked smile. "That's certainly one way of putting it."
He traced a two inch mark below her clavicle. His finger was rough and warm against her skin. He was very close to her now. "What did this one teach you?"
"To keep my shoulder up, so I don't leave myself open to a counterattack."
His hand drifting down her chest, settling on a jagged line over her ribs.
"And this one?"
At this point, she found herself having to work very hard to keep her breathing steady. She wondered if he was doing this on purpose.
"Not to transfer so much weight to my lead foot. It left me off balance."
The wry smile was back. "And what will this new one teach you, if you are fortunate enough to receive a scar?"
"Not to lift my hips so much when I lunge." She grinned at him. "That or something about not listening to crazy Russians and their bad ideas."
He chuckled. "Fair enough, and I do apologize. The run did not go quite as planned."
"Don't worry about it. It's my own fault, and I still had fun. Besides, I care about you, Racter," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "This is important to you, so it's important to me. And by now I am really looking forward to slowly disemboweling Doctors Taylor and Hardingham." She gestured at the bandages covering her side and gave him a dangerous smile, her unnaturally bright blue eyes flaring. "Besides, I owe them one."
Racter held her gaze, his expression thoughtful. As the moment, stretched on, Enobaria began to feel almost shy. Racter's hands were still on her, and his face was only inches from hers.
And then he leaned in and ran his lips over hers. The kiss was soft and gentle and over almost before she realized what had happened.
"What was that?" she asked, her voice more breathless than she would have liked.
Racter's face was still contemplative. "Call it curiosity."
