@cxpt asked: [ fix ] for your muse to treat mine’s injury
{ ☆ } She doesn’t say a word, but her CHEST hurts from trying to stifle the tears. Her fingers work quickly and deftly, mixing and grinding the herbs. Clea doesn’t meet his gaze as she works on the salve--she doesn’t want him to see her red-rimmed eyes.
Keep it together, Clea. Then go home, back to the SANCTUM and wail. Don’t show them you’re hurt.
A dull ache begins to thud behind her eyes as silence reverberates in her mind. No connection. No reassurances. NOTHING.
She stops for a moment, her body stock stiff as she holds the bowl of the SWEET scented balm. It was an old remedy, from her HOME in the Dark Dimension. A place which now seemed more stable than the hell they were living in.
They all lost something, someone. The WORLD was in shambles. Thanos had won. And here she was, unable to finish a HEALING salve because she was grieving her husband. He’d be ashamed of her. Clea rolls her shoulders back, snuffs back a sob, and turns around.
“Alright, so this will TINGLE for a moment. But the pain will be gone immediately,” Clea sighed softly, dabbing a little on her index finger. She steps closer, gently dabbing the balm onto Steve’s forehead. Another little dollop on her finger and she rubs it into his cheek.
“How is that feeling, Captain Rogers?”
