[ now listen—

at least, that's what marta means to say, or some flustered equivalent of, but whatever words her indignation had conjured up promptly get extinguished in her throat like a bucket of water to flames. the idea of defending herself and refuting against his accusatory tone doesn't seem quite so important when she's suddenly made to scramble to avert her eyes again and—

wait. wait.

he's right though. begrudging as she is to even silently admit it, he is right. she's a goddamn professional (twice over!), she's seen plenty of naked bodies before. nevermind context at the moment. the second he turns around, he's showing his wound again, and that, above all else, has to take priority.

so she grits her jaw, keeps her eyes levelled to the laceration at his back, and takes a few steps forward to give herself a better look.

(she takes a deep, steadying breath too. it's quiet, but the dampness on his skin might feel a little extra cooled for a second.) ]

The good news is your wound is mostly healed up, despite the bleeding. Your stitches are fine to come off today.

[ tone even. calm. professional. ]

The bad news is it's a little swollen. Possibly infected. I hope you can sleep on your stomach.