Adelaide looks over that newest tattoo, mixed feelings as always about that wolfish branding on her people - though that mix is admittedly a good deal less negative than it used to be. She unconsciously shifts her own shoulder, inked intricately with white lace, and recalls the burn of that day back in Boston. "Funny how some people seem to be magnets for it," she murmurs. She takes the first hooked suture needle from it's card, and shifts forward. "And here's one more," she adds, and with steady hands and her small, calmly serious face, she sets the first stitch.
"When I volunteered at the hospital - when I actually showed up - they started to realize they couldn't gross me out," she tells him as she works, looking a little bit pleased with herself. "They started teaching me stuff like this, to save the people with the real skills' time." She's smoothly closing up where the worst of the gaping is, tidy little fingers precise and perfectly suited for the job. She lifts her eyes briefly up to his face, gives a small smile. "You still couldn't have paid me enough to get a job doing this stuff, but I couldn't help thinking it'd come in handy around you fellas."
That same muted smile lingers while she looks back to his wound, uses gauze to dab away a bit of blood, and her eyes gradually cloud over, the reminder all too glaring how close she came to never seeing him again, to never getting back this deeply familiar old-and-new connection she could never replicate. That goddamned knife looks like it went real, real close to a lot of important things. "Never thought I'd be so grateful that Jims got close with the Doctor," she admits wryly. She keeps her eyes down as she places one more stitch. She holds the last thread to snip it, and now that needles are done she goes out on a limb a little. "Wonder what she must have thought of us with those messages," she says, that old mischief in her lowered eyes.