[Gratitude floods across this link of theirs. This thing forged out of the struggle to be better than what they were made into. Grateful to her for this, for understanding without saying anything. He stays sitting where he had been, scrubbing at his mouth once she leaves.]
[Trying not to let her see him do it.]
[Trying not to leave traces of red on his face.]
[It's mostly gone by the time she gets back. Mostly. If only because scrubbing at it means smearing it more than actually getting it off. He'd been too busy doing so to really notice anything at all in his hand. So when she returns, asks. When she holds out the offering, he's surprised when his arm moves without pain.]
[The half smile for her is a real one, this time.]
Good enough to give Sam his splint back. [A pause, before, more quietly:] How's yours?
[How is her arm, her cut. She was the one actively ... and his mind aborts the thought before it's formed.]
no subject
[Trying not to let her see him do it.]
[Trying not to leave traces of red on his face.]
[It's mostly gone by the time she gets back. Mostly. If only because scrubbing at it means smearing it more than actually getting it off. He'd been too busy doing so to really notice anything at all in his hand. So when she returns, asks. When she holds out the offering, he's surprised when his arm moves without pain.]
[The half smile for her is a real one, this time.]
Good enough to give Sam his splint back. [A pause, before, more quietly:] How's yours?
[How is her arm, her cut. She was the one actively ... and his mind aborts the thought before it's formed.]