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Summary
“What, um,” she swallows and pushes her braid back over her shoulder with her other hand, “what are you doing?” Her voice wavers, and she hates that he might hear it. Hates that he might be able to read her mind—she’s never been good at hiding her emotions, they’re always painted plainly on her face.
“One, I need to hold onto something,” he explains, leaving no room for questions, “and two, I don’t want you to jump away from me while you help.”
“Help?” Emma slowly raises her eyes to meet his.
“Yes, help,” he says flatly, blue eyes boring into hers so intensely she’s sure he can tell what she’s thinking. “I can’t suture with one hand. I need you to be the other one.”
“I–I’m not sure I’m the best person for this,” she glances over her shoulder, looking to signal Donnie or someone who’s actually good at sutures. Her brain scrambles for an out, something to ground herself, to slow this down. “I’ve barely been here a month and—”
“And I’ve been doing this for twenty years, so you’ll be safe with me.”
