a little place called trust

The reassurance isn't something Isla realises she needs, but it feels good as Nate takes her hands, as he tells her - again - that he's alright to do this. Smiling at the kiss he presses to her forehead, she squeezes his hands back (also being careful of the razor) and nods to him. "Alright," she murmurs, straightening up a bit to get to work. "Thank you, Nate." For doing this, for letting her double check. "The army, huh?" she murmurs as she moves to snip and shave at one side of his dark hair; he'll be left with a rather fetching style that some Outlanders might describe as punk, not that Isla has any idea. "We'd have made quite the pair even then. You could be a soldier, I'd be your field medic." The preparation is complete all too soon, and then it's off and into the operating room. Isla sets Nate up to lay down on his side, keeping his head propped up and still. "I usually wear a surgical mask in these circumstances, but let me know if you'd prefer me to keep it off." She smiles, drawing up beside him. "I'll describe everything to you as best I can," she tells him. "It's vital that you don't turn your head though, okay? Get comfy and let me know when you're ready." Isla the flesh is weak