"Man, that cat did a number on you." Blair shook his head, dabbing at the deep claw marks on Jim's chest and ignoring the hiss of pain Jim couldn't hold back because the dabbing had to be done.
"I'll live." Jim winced. "Do you have to use so much?"
"Yes. Stop being a baby. Really don't like you getting marked up like this." The antiseptic-soaked pad followed a furrowed curve of scarlet skin and came away red. Blair scowled. "Ungrateful little…"
"She was scared," Jim said mildly. He turned, twisted, studied his back in the mirror. "What was your excuse?"
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