“It’s not that.” Reddix’s voice sounded harsh, even in his own ears. “I remember what I saw in the dreams we shared—I know you’re a healer.”
“Then you know I won’t hurt you.” She dipped the cloth in the steaming water again and wrung it out. “So if you’ll just hold still—”
“No,” he snapped, evading her hand.
She frowned. “Look, I worked my way through massage therapy school as an aide in a nursing home. I’ve seen some nasty injuries, and I can tell when a cut looks bad. I can promise you that’s going to get infected if I don’t clean it out. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Reddix admitted grudgingly. “But why don’t you just let me loose and let me clean it out myself? I’ll swear not to hurt you.”
“Fat chance, buddy.” Nina crossed her arms over her chest, apparently heedless of the dripping cloth. “You’re not going anywhere. So you have two options—let me clean the cut, or get a nasty infection and possibly die of it while we’re out here marooned on an alien planet. Your choice.”
Reddix considered her for a long moment. It was true that the area above his left eyebrow ached and stung, and he could feel the tackiness of dried blood across his forehead and down his cheek. The last thing he needed was to be undermined by an infection—especially now when he would probably need all his strength to fix the ship—if it was even fixable.
“Well?” Nina raised an eyebrow at him. “The water’s getting cold. Make up your mind.”
“Fine,” he said at last, grudgingly. “But only if you can clean it without touching my skin.” Seeing her uncomprehending look, he continued. “Just use the cloth—don’t put your hand on me, don’t touch your bare skin to mine in any way. Got it?”
Nina looked offended. “Are you some kind of germaphobe? You’re afraid I’ll contaminate you with my Earth germs or something?”
“No,” Reddix said shortly. “With your feelings. Can you clean it without touching me or not?”
“Sure, I guess.” Still frowning, she shrugged and dipped the cloth in the water a third time. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the only way I want it,” Reddix growled. “Just don’t touch me, and I’ll be fine.”
“All right, all right.” She still looked offended as she began to wipe the stinging cut carefully. “You didn’t seem to have any problem with bare skin contact when you grabbed me.”
“That was different,” Reddix muttered, closing his eyes as she continued to dab at the wound. “An exception. I usually never touch anyone.”
“What—never?” She sounded surprised. “Is that some kind of an OCD thing?”
He frowned. “OCD? I don’t know that word.”
“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Sometimes people who have it feel the need to wash their hands over and over or—”
“No, nothing like that.” Reddix shook his head. “It’s an RTS thing.”
“RTS? What’s that?”
“Reverse Touch Syndrome,” he said and was immediately irritated with himself for revealing another personal detail to her when he ought to be keeping her at an arm’s length.
“Reverse Touch Syndrome? I’ve worked with a lot of clients that have different problems, but I’ve never heard of that. What is it? Like Fibromyalgia or something?”
“It’s nothing—nothing that concerns you.” He jerked his head away from the dabbing cloth. “Are you almost done?”
“Just need to clean off the blood on your face.” She dipped the cloth again and wrung it out. “You’re not very grateful, you know. In fact, you’re a grumpy bastard.”
“Yeah, well, I—” he began, and then his stomach growled loudly.
Nina looked amused. “Okay, that explains it—at least partially.”
Reddix frowned, angry at his body for showing weakness.
“Explains what?”
“You’re hungry. Mehoo always says hunger turns a man into a bear.”
“Thought I was already a bear,” he said. “What in the Seven Hells is a bear, anyway?”
Nina frowned as she wiped his face, being careful not to touch his skin.
“A big, shaggy, solitary animal that lives by itself in the forest. As long as you leave them alone, they’re harmless. But if you make one angry…” She shook her head and shivered.
“What?” Reddix was interested despite himself. “Tell me—what’s so bad about a bear?”