He is, as soon as she shifts in the bed. The quiet hiss of air through her teeth brought back everything that happened the night before. He opens his eyes and sits up himself, surprisingly not stiff from sleeping in the chair all night.
She takes her time, resettling, favouring her good arm. "Not great. You know I've actually never been shot before? I've shot other people. I've been shot at. But I'd completely avoided getting hit before yesterday."
She twists a little, resting more on good side than on her back, which helps. "There. Good morning."
He scrubs a hand across his face, through his hair, tossing aside the throw and moving to sit beside her on the bed.
"Technically, I don't think you were shot," he grumbles, grinning. "I think that was a richochet. But--seeing as it's probably going to leave a scar, I think it's safe to count this one."
She pulls a face. "That would explain how he managed to hit me in the back without ever leaving my sight. He didn't have a… I mean, there wasn't anyone else." With tentative fingers, she reaches back, probing at the bandage.
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"Morning. How's the shoulder?"
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She twists a little, resting more on good side than on her back, which helps. "There. Good morning."
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"Technically, I don't think you were shot," he grumbles, grinning. "I think that was a richochet. But--seeing as it's probably going to leave a scar, I think it's safe to count this one."
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