For half a moment, John almost pushes Gladio's hand away, a flare of self-consciousness rising. Rehab and weeks with the cane haven't been kind to his figure. Not to mention, he's 35, not 23. But the Guide lets that go. Gladio is going to see him at some point, and John's aware that he's not hideous, just not nearly so defined as his new partner. Something to work toward to ensure he can keep up with these young bucks, then.
"Not nearly as impressive as you are," John says, trying to at least do some expectation management while Gladio works his shirt open. "Don't get your hopes too high." John doesn't bother to help him, just runs the heel of his palm up and down the length he can feel. Let's see how the Sentinel does with buttons while he's being distracted.
As the buttons come off, Gladio will be treated to the sight of skin much paler than the rest of the Army doctor. John's tan lines stop at his neck and wrists, very distinct, still, from his battle fatigues. There's some pale hair running down his chest, but nothing to write home about. There are also various small scars, nicks and lines earned in combat through the years. Most prominent, though, is a still-new scar on his left shoulder, very near his heart. The skin is twisted, puckered up and white. Dealing with the bullet had been a complete mess, and there hadn't been much time to do more than stabilize him. It's all a blur to John. He just remembers looking down after a sharp pain in his back. And then being delirious after with infection and fever and hallucinating strange and sometimes horrifying things that made him try to lash out at people.
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"Not nearly as impressive as you are," John says, trying to at least do some expectation management while Gladio works his shirt open. "Don't get your hopes too high." John doesn't bother to help him, just runs the heel of his palm up and down the length he can feel. Let's see how the Sentinel does with buttons while he's being distracted.
As the buttons come off, Gladio will be treated to the sight of skin much paler than the rest of the Army doctor. John's tan lines stop at his neck and wrists, very distinct, still, from his battle fatigues. There's some pale hair running down his chest, but nothing to write home about. There are also various small scars, nicks and lines earned in combat through the years. Most prominent, though, is a still-new scar on his left shoulder, very near his heart. The skin is twisted, puckered up and white. Dealing with the bullet had been a complete mess, and there hadn't been much time to do more than stabilize him. It's all a blur to John. He just remembers looking down after a sharp pain in his back. And then being delirious after with infection and fever and hallucinating strange and sometimes horrifying things that made him try to lash out at people.
"Guess this is us comparing war wounds, hmm?"