Finally.

[ Biting into his cheek, hands ball into fists as his sides, nails carving crescent indents into the palm. No wonder she had wanted to wait until morning; straight from the battlefield the injuries felt fresh and stung harshly. ]

It’ll heal.

[ Mimicking her words, teeth flashed in an easy grin. Having an accelerated ability to heal, the speedster knew there would be no need to fuss over cracked ribs. In a few days it would simply be bruised and then the pain would fade. Slow exhale escaping, a rough hand catches her own. Sleep would be the next best decision. In a few hours they could seek help and shower. ]

C’mon, the bed’s calling my name.

[ The difference when he says it, is that it's actually true. It will, and without external aid. Regardless, she gives him a look; a look that says 'watch it, or I'll accidentally press down on your broken rib again'. It's unlikely that she actually would, but hey, the silent, empty threat's still there. ]

You're sure?

[ She sighs, withdrawing. There's no point in arguing, she decides, defeated. Even if there was some reason behind arguing, she hardly has the energy or the patience to go ahead with it. The archer's bones ache and she craves sleep; she wants to curl up against him and stay in bed until all her wounds are mere scars. ]

Okay. We'll figure it out in the morning.

[ Head shaking, digits patted the covered area on her side tenderly, sympathetic grin in place. ]

Don’t be so sure of that. It’s a quick fix for the night.

[ By tomorrow she would get it checked out at the med bay at the Watch Tower. There she would get proper assistance compared to his crude work. Thoughts interrupted at her touch, fingers seize the blond’s wrist. ]

—Shit.

[ She doesn't pull away, keeps her hand pressed against his torso, albeit much gentler. Yeah, just as she thought. It's not looking promising. ]

I'm no expert. But I'm pretty sure you've got a broken rib.

[ She yawns, shaking her head. All things considered, she should probably take him to the hospital. But she's fairly certain he doesn't want to go, they're both exhausted, and doctors always have these stupid questions they wouldn't be asking if they knew the pair had been out fighting crime.

Naturally, you can't just tell them how you got so beaten up. You have to tell them you tripped, ran into the kitchen counter, or something equally ridiculous. ]

[ A shrug is his response as fingers sort through the plastic container. Retrieving gauze, medical tape, and cleansing spray, the ginger shook his head. Not only would the sheets stain which would be a pain to get out, but the wounds could worse without protection. ]

I’ll be quick.

[ At that, he has to wink before tugging her closer. A warning gaze was all the archer got before he sprayed the open injuries and dabbed it dry with gauze. Fresh ones covered the area and were taped in place. With the major wounds closed, he stood, and extended the rest of the supplies over, awaiting his own torture with a pensive expression. ]

[ If he'd given her further warning, she would've had the forethought to grit her teeth and remain silent. As it happens, she didn't have the time to think before she let out an audible, exasperated 'ow'. It stings, she closes her eyes, and before long he's drawing back and getting to his feet. ]

Not as bad as I thought it'd be. No stitches, eh.

[ His turn. She takes to box, and places it aside, getting to her feet in front of him. ]

Let me see your ribs.

[ Payback--without much warning at all, she presses a wane palm to the bruising below his chest, raising her eyebrows at him. ]

prncediana

#*images:#[1]

[ Despite the tiredness pulling down his eyelids, he can’t help but gaze appreciatively as the blond shimmies out of her uniform. Priorities sort themselves out, however, and he zooms to the bathroom only to return seconds later with the first aid kit. The use of powers elicits a loud groan. Maybe his ribs were more than just bruised. Fingers extending, he tugs her closer to patch up her wounds. ]

Yeah, it will, after you get it cleaned and covered.

[ Stubborn was Artemis’ middle name, but there was no chance the speedster would allow her to get away with brushing off her injuries. ]

You could've just walked.

[ She sighs, pushing the hair out of her face. She moves slowly, she's as gentle and fluid as she can be with her movements, a) she'd love to conserve her energy as best she can and b) she really can't afford to make her injuries any worse. ]

Can't it wait until the morning? It's not that bad, really.

[ She wants more than anything to just crawl into bed and sleep. Or, hell, she wouldn't be super opposed to just passing out on the couch. Either way, she's exhausted and sore and tugging her top off relatively slowly. Her flesh has started to darken into purples and blacks and blues, mostly on her back and over her ribs. She winces slightly, placing her top on the couch beside her. ]

[ Grunts and groans could be heard throughout the small space as aching muscles protested the action of pulling down his zipper. Usually, he’d have her do it, but to beckon the archer from the couch would result in an unfavorable reaction. The goggles dropped to the table and the gloves and boots peeled off with the suit into a single lump. It would be annoying to yank them off before the next mission, but he was too exhausted to care. Sitting at the edge of the wood with a wince, he extended a helping hand. ]

Better to be safe than sorry — let me see.

#lappedspeedster #drops icons bc as i have previously stated i am Trash

[ She undoes her belt, wriggles out of her pants (god, why are they so tight, why couldn't she have opted for something a little easier to take off) and does her best to move as little as possible. The injuries are always a pain, but at least they managed to get out alive, and finish the job. That's all that matters, she reasons. ]

I'm fine, I'm just--

[ The only thing that really concerns her is her side. She presses her palm to the wound and determines that yeah, it is actually her blood. ]

It'll heal.

[ Wally wishes he could heal faster. No doubt the bruised ribs would fix themselves in half the time and the scrapes littering his cheeks and chest, tearing through yellow latex, would be scabbed over by morning. For now though, he’s aching and tired and wanting nothing more than to sleep. Even food has become a secondary need. And that’s saying something. Blistered feet dragging, he pushes the door closed behind him. ]

You’re telling me.

[ Her quiver's dropped on the couch, she pulls off her mask, discarding it carelessly. Her hair's undone, blond locks falling over her shoulders. Her gloves are also left on the floor after she's taken them off. Her clothes are too restricting--they're just pressing on her bruises, it's all awfully uncomfortable. She needs to sleep for a week, she needs to get off her feet, at least. ]

I don't think I broke anything.