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“It means I know how to handle your ass if you irritate me,” Dean told him, smile falling away like smoke. “So get your ass in one of the exam rooms, sit down, shut up, and save your badass speech for someone who’s going to be impressed.”

“Ha!” Troy’s laughter barked from the office as Carter scowled.

“Your bedside manner sucks ass,” Carter growled, stomping into the nearest room and sitting down.

“You want good bedside manners? Then I can get Troy for you,” Dean told him. “Which is what I would have said, but apparently, you don’t want good bedside manners. You want to be treated like some hardass. Shirt off.”

Carter pulled the shirt up before he realized what he was doing. He snorted, tossing it aside. Only certain people could provoke that sort of response from a soldier, especially one as surly and difficult as him.

“You weren’t always a base med, were you?” Carter asked as Dean pulled up a seat across from him and leaned close to examine his injuries.

“Did a tour or two,” Dean said, pushing up Carter’s tank top.

“Combat medic,” Carter supplied.

“Yeah, but if you call me Doc, I’ll find a stethoscope to shove somewhere uncomfortable.”

“Not my Doc, so not gonna.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to his face, though his expression was unreadable. He grunted a moment later.

“Lost yours recently,” Dean said, as though they were discussing the weather.

Carter gritted his teeth. “Is this part of the examination?”

“Nope, just thinking aloud, bad habit of mine.”

The phrasing caught Carter’s attention, and he squinted at the other man. “You’re?—”

Dean. Marco had talked about his friend who said how difficult soldiers could sometimes be.

“I’m?” Dean asked, watching him.

Carter shook his head. “Nothing. Can I go?”

“Right. So, we’re just going to pretend like you weren’t in a fight last night?”

“Don’t need to pretend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Right, well, unless you fell on a bunch of people, these aren’t the wounds of a fall.”

“Stairs are a bitch,” Carter insisted.

“Oh, now it’s stairs you fell down.”

“Look,” Carter huffed. He was going to be an idiot, but something in his gut told him he could at least try to be more honest. “It’s not what it looks like, and it’s not what you think.”

“So, not denying a fight then?”

“Not saying I did either.”

Dean snorted. “Your rib is cracked.”

“Fuck,” Carter hissed.

“Fuck indeed,” Dean said with a smile. “But lucky for you, it doesn’t matter why it happened. I don’t have to know why. It’s nice you at leasttriedto stop lying to me, though. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah. Real fucking thrilling,” Carter said, grabbing his shirt. “Can I go?”