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“Didn’t get my eyes,” Carter muttered.

“Yeah, well,” Marco poured something pink on a cloth and wiped it across Carter’s right side. “This should help.”

“Oh, shit, that does feel better,” Carter admitted as the cool liquid was smeared across the right side of his face.

“I may not be a medic, but I know a few tricks,” Marco chuckled.

“And where did you learn how to treat mace?”

“College.”

“The fuck college did you go to?”

Marco chuckled, bringing another wad of cotton up. “A fun one. Or rather, I hung out with a lot of interesting people.”

Carter winced as the wad pressed against the cut on his brow, drawing a sharp hiss of pain. “I hate iodine.”

“Funny, isn’t it? I always hated it as a kid, and still do. I’d rather deal with the wound. Somehow, iodine always seems worse. Just be glad there’s nothing that looks in need of stitches. My needlework is terrible.”

Carter snorted. “Don’t need to ruin this face any more than it already is.”

Marco pressed another iodine-soaked cotton wad onto the other wound, cocking his head. “I think once you’re not covered in pink goop, bruises, and blood, you’ll actually have a pretty nice face.”

“That’s a word I don’t get to hear used about me, like ever.”

“My mother always told me that if I ever have kids, always try to make them nice. And if you can’t, make them kind.”

“Sounds like the same thing.”

“I thought so too. But I don’t think they are.”

Carter frowned, unable to hide his confusion. “How aren’t they the same thing?”

Marco watched him for a moment, dark eyes growing thoughtful. “You could have been nicer to those women who were only scared of what you could have done to them, of what they thought you’d done to their friend.”

“Not my fault they were too stupid and drunk to know the difference between a threat and someone helping,” Carter mumbled.

Marco pulled out a bandage and tape, ripping off a piece as he leaned forward to apply it. “But you were kind. You helped their friend without expecting a reward and put yourself in danger to do it. You took their abuse, even though you would have been in the right to defend yourself. Maybe you aren’t nice, but you certainly are kind.”

For the first time in a long time, Carter could not come up with a retort. Lapsing into silence, he let Marco apply the last bits of medicine and bandages. And Carter couldn’t help but notice the tenderness with which he worked.

Carter couldn’t remember when someone had ever spoken to him candidly and yet gently. He also couldn’t remember when someone had spoken of something he’d said and done in a strictly positive light. Sure, his teammates appreciated, verballyat times, his fierceness in battle, his loyalty, and his willingness to put himself on the line if it came down to it.

But as far as Carter could remember, no one hadeverreferred to him as kind.

After a few more minutes, Marco pulled back and looked Carter over. “It won’t help your ribs, but at least you’ve got something for the other wounds. It’s the best I can do. I still say you should see someone.”

“Thank you,” Carter managed to get out, hating how quiet he sounded but having no other way to speak.

“How are the mace burns?”

“Better.”

And they were. Whatever Marco had done had taken the edge off, though he was sure they would bother him for at least the rest of the night.

Marco looked him over one last time with a frown, and for a brief moment, Carter felt the urge to reach out and run a finger over the crease in the man’s brow to smooth it out.

“Right, well, that’ll have to do then,” Marco said, and Carter could hear the edge of something in his voice.