[ A xenoanthropologist. Not a soldier. He can't help the incredulous wonder that crosses over his face, or the smile that comes as her hand curves over his arm. He can't touch her, lying like this, not without moving more than is probably advised by the doctors, but she seems to be taking care of that for him. ]

He loves me, really.

[ Loved. And this Sam Kirk, whoever he is, isn't really his brother, but – hell, he's not going to pass up a second chance.

Nor is he going to pass up the chance to try and make her smile, to feed into that faint amusement until she gives in. ]

You're being pretty nice to me. It's almost enough to make me want to almost die all over again.