”…Really Lieutenant, do I actually have to order you to take it easy for the rest of the week? Or can you, just this once, lay off with the fighting?” Carson Beckett said with a tired sigh to his most regular patient, currently sitting with his legs dangling on the hospital bed.
Harrison James Potter huffed indignantly, “It’s not fighting, it’s practice. Now that I finally have a worthy opponent I have to use the opportunity, all the marines here are completely useless at martial arts…”
“All the same, that leg of yours isn’t kicking anybody, not even the major, until I say so. Don’t make me go to Dr. Weir about it, unless you want to be assigned a babysitter for the duration of your rehabilitation.” Carson chastised the twenty-two-year old, used to his behavior, and knew that if he didn’t use the babysitter-threat, the black-haired youth would be back before the day was over with new wounds and bruises and an already sprained leg even more hurt than it was before. It was, after all, not the first time they had had this discussion in the sick-bay.
Harrison tried pleading with his big green eyes, making them almost tear up, but when the older man held strong, he pouted adorably before replying. “…Fine, so I’ll lay off with hitting incompetent marines for a while.”
Carson eyed him weirdly. “…You said you were practicing martial arts with Teyla.”
“…That too.” Harrison fidgeted under the older man’s gaze, his hands scrunching up the white sheet as he resolutely looked everywhere except on the doctor. “So can I go now?” he asked after a while, a red hue having appeared on his cheeks after having felt the gray eyes having stayed on him the whole time the silence had reigned.
Carson started slightly, inwardly reprimanding himself for having gotten lost in watching his patient, the small man much too pleasing on the eyes for him to avoid showing interest, if only admitting it to himself. “Yes, of course.” He scribbled something down on his note-pad after motioning the man to the door. “I want you back here tomorrow morning, to check the leg again and to make sure you haven’t done anything to make it worse.” He tried to look stern as he said the last part, wanting the lithe man to at least try to stay out of trouble.
Harrison looked back before answering with a fake, indignant tone. “What? You don’t trust me not to hurt myself?”
Carson just chuckled slightly as he shook his head, walking the man out of the infirmary. “No one does, Lieutenant, not even Sheppard.”
“…I feel insulted.”