[ on his stomach like he is, she's left to take a seat in the space carved out on the bed by his torso, hovering just close enough to begin the careful work of cleaning up and removing those stitches. the wound is red and angry, not unlike the first time she'd seen it, but it's nothing she's sure some antibiotic cream won't take care of in due time. overall it's an issue far easier to tackle than the other one at hand, glaring in the way it isn't something visible or tangible, but still just as annoyingly present in the small space between them.
the problem is, marta's certain this isn't something for her to address. she had always suspected something had happened to him the night of christmas; how else to explain his complete shift in demeanor from that morning over their game of go to the late evening as he stumbled into the silent infirmary? she had had her theories, in the few moments she allowed herself to ponder over someone else's problems (problems he clearly didn't want to discuss) but never had she thought that at the crux of it would be a woman. one of their own, even. ]
Maybe next time consider locking the door.
[ but he slips back into that sardonic wit like a comfortable sweater, and marta knows any window of opportunity she had to ask about it has closed. she's curious, but she doesn't pry, so she keeps working and working and working on the one pain of his she knows how to treat. ]
no subject
the problem is, marta's certain this isn't something for her to address. she had always suspected something had happened to him the night of christmas; how else to explain his complete shift in demeanor from that morning over their game of go to the late evening as he stumbled into the silent infirmary? she had had her theories, in the few moments she allowed herself to ponder over someone else's problems (problems he clearly didn't want to discuss) but never had she thought that at the crux of it would be a woman. one of their own, even. ]
Maybe next time consider locking the door.
[ but he slips back into that sardonic wit like a comfortable sweater, and marta knows any window of opportunity she had to ask about it has closed. she's curious, but she doesn't pry, so she keeps working and working and working on the one pain of his she knows how to treat. ]