( She has a gentle touch, at least, never scruffing his hair in a way that will tangle it, never going against the grain of his stubble as she sees it down over his face, sides of her thumbs down along his nose and getting his ears with the efficiency of someone who has done this more than a few times. She lets it fall over his nape and leaves it there for him to finish— she doesn't know if he's sensitive or not and she's not going to get handsy with him.

There's a soft "there" under her breath, declaring him fit, before she's reaching to buckle his holster over the baggy scrubs and tugging the material to lay as flat as possible, creasing it to fold in under the arms and take in the excess.

Sorry. She's a bit of a perfectionist and won't leave him looking frumpy if he's putting himself in her care, to any extent.

That sigh could sap the energy from her, too, if she let it. )

I can only desperately hope the same. But you should be fine now. No fear in being around anyone else. You know how to get ahold of me if you'd like to check in again, or have anything suspicious you might find?

( She's not really poked around with the devices they were given yet, but she's sure she'll figure it out. )