He thought about her hands often.

The way they had felt on his skin, doctoring his wounds, tending to his pains. The way they had felt in his, smooth and delicate; and yet when they worked so unwavering and deft.

It had only been a week since Marc last saw her, but it had felt so much longer than that in his head. With every tug and pull of the wound on his side, he was once again reminded of her. That simple attraction he had felt for her that day quickly blossomed into something he reluctantly recognized. Something that caused his heart to lurch every time he thought of her.

Marc was never the kind of man to believe in love. He knew it existed, but the chances of it happening for him had always felt slim. Marc 's own beliefs simply aligned with that of the Scouts and had always been so much greater than his desire to settle down with someone. Love was just a flimsy thing, something that wasn 't always guaranteed in a person 's life.