Moving his hand to give her access to the wound again he looks down at the blood. Well, he had become quite used to it throughout the years, but the pain was sickening. The scent of it was getting quite overwhelming as well; almost able to taste the iron.
Balling his hands into fists to hide their shakiness he manages a faint, almost teasing smile. He wouldn’t even try to pronounce her name, knowing he would make a fool out of himself due to his heavy accent.
‘Merrylegs it is then. Until I promote you, that is.’ He decides, though not meaning it in its original way. She had been shaking when they met, though, so he thought it kind of fitted her.
A small wave of nausea hits him, however, forcing him to slouch over slightly and clench his teeth. His stomach didn’t seem to be turning, though, and James thanked his lucky stars for it. Closing his eyes for a second he needs a moment to let the sickness pass.
'Not most days.’ He replies to her question when he thinks he’s fine, though not moving too much yet.
'The look of you was priceless, though.’ He adds, teasingly. He knew he could trust her now. He even might consider her a friend.
It took everything she had to not just jerk away even after she’d finished up, stupid of her really, she wasn’t the one who had been shot, she wasn’t the one who was suffering, she just had to clean a wound to prevent it from getting infected. No big deal.
Helen felt sorry for her almost assailant, not a nice situation to end up in, and although she had about a million and one questions for Kidd, she probably wasn’t going to ask any for a while. Whether it was out of convenience or some sort of odd respect was a different matter altogether.
“Sure you don’t want to stick with Helen? I don’t mind, never had a nickname so...Tolkienesque before.” It reminds her of that one Hobbit from that one trilogy, alternatively she’s sure it’s the name of some horse in a book but she can’t be certain.
She almost leans forward to give him a reassuring touch on the shoulder, to make sure he doesn’t do anything that’ll make all her hard (and probably terrible) first aid work go to waste but she opts not to. It’s all a bit too personal. And while they’re getting on positively swimmingly now, it still doesn’t quite seem right.
“Oh, please, if the tables had been turned I’m sure you would’ve been just as terrified,” she pokes him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes playfully. “Uh, did you have any plans for after this? Whatever...this was.”