{ @fxllenwilson continued from here }
A randomly appearing X was hardly an uncommon occurrence. It's happened plenty of times before at any place she's stayed at. Part of the reason she's accused him of being a stalker over the years that they've known each other.
Though, he's never been unwelcome. She may greet him with snark, but he's never been an annoyance to have around, unless he's trying to make her sleep.
An injured X, however, was a rare occurrence. Just once before to get a bullet out for him before his accelerated healing closed up over it. Though, from the way he stops her it seems like this time it's an accident.
Her lips press into a thin line as her eyes assess the damage. He needs to let her clean the wound before it heals and becomes infected. She's half tempted to tell him he looks like shit, because he does, but doesn't think that'd be all that helpful in getting him to let her help him.
She turns and leaves just long enough to grab her med kit before returning and sitting down across from him. He can be annoyingly stubborn, but so can she.
"Let me bandage you up before your body heals over and you get an infection." She'll sit here and stare at you until you let her. Clearly you're not going anywhere. She can out stubborn you.
The world is still fracturing at the edges, smoke and serum and that godawful burning crawling up his throat like it never left. Need to leave. Fix the mistake. Deal with the traitor lungs and the burning alone.
But she’s already back, med kit in hand, dropping down across from him like she’s got all night to wait him out. Knowing her sleep schedule, she does. Pink hair, civie clothes, stubborn tilt to her chin he’s always found annoyingly cute. Of course it had to be her apartment. The suit’s glitchy teleport must’ve remembered the last place he felt… safe? Stupid.
His back stays pressed to the wall, legs sprawled out uselessly. The hand he threw up lowers slowly, but he still can't manage to make his lungs cooperate with his brain.
“I can do it later.” His voice comes out rough, cracked with the ghost of screaming he hasn’t done in years, but even he's not really buying that excuse. He shifts, wincing as a burned patch on his shoulder pulls. The suit’s synthetic weave is fused in places- he can feel it. Accelerated healing is already kicking in, knitting skin around melted fabric like an idiot. It’s gonna hurt worse coming out later.
His eyes flick up to hers, sharper than they should be given how hard he’s still breathing. “You switching jobs to personal nurse, Jinxie? It doesn't suit your temperament.” He’s deflecting. Hard. But what else is new?
