Like fat Prophets, Profits? Profits.

Mariam beamed widely as he called her brave -- it was a thing for her, what most people called recklessness, Gabe actually saw for what it was, bravery.  She adored that about him, and if he looked too closely, he might actually see the color start to flush along her chest and neck, even as he pay attention to her injury.  Later.  Later, she reminded herself, later she could think about having him a bit closer, how his breath would feel against her skin, and all the other things that she couldn't really let her mind focus on in the here and now.

They were sent to find something, and he was just concerned for her shoulder, professionally concerned.  Nothing along the lines of where her mind wanted to go -- his interests were professional.  She was the fighter after all, he was the mage, even if he could fight too, she had been the one hired for muscle on this one.  So she nodded permission when his tone went softer.

Was it more than professional?  "[color=#ff4136]Alright then, a quick heal spell, and then no more touching torches in here for me.  After all, you're the one along to make sure nothing we do touch is going to blow up on us.[/color]"  She grinned up at him as she reached over to pull her hair out of the way, to give him clear access of the skin above the muscle that was still making itself known to her even after she had slid the bone back into socket.