milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Carl is sitting at a table near the bar with a damp washcloth and a first-aid kit, cleaning out a rather impressive wound on his right forearm. He's gotten the bleeding to stop -- for the most part, anyway -- and is now working on getting set to suture the cut closed.

He doesn't seem bothered by the prospect either. He's dealt with worse on his own many times before.

He's got a bottle of water sitting beside him, half gone. He's botherable, as long as you don't mind the DIY doctoring going on.

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"The hell you do to yourself this time, Benton?"

She'll sit when she's sure she doesn't have to drag him somewhere. Or that he hasn't got any other injuries that need tending to.

He glances up, and replies without missing a beat.

"Got mauled by a lion."

"Bullshit."

"Damn, you got me there."

He carefully ties a knot in the end of the suture material.

"I got attacked by a wayward piece of roofing tin."

A crooked smile.

"And were you out-numbered?"

"And unarmed," he adds. "I mean, I had my gloves on, but they did nothin' for the forearm. There was no chance."

She snorts, and then leans over to kiss his temple. "I'm glad you won, even against the odds."

"Me too."

He dabs at the wound with the washcloth before carefully moving to start putting in the stitches. It shouldn't take all that many to keep it closed.

"I may need your help tyin' this off when I'm through," he comments. "If you'd be up for it? I'll make it worth your while."

"No, sorry, I'll break a nail." She rolls her eyes. "Just tell me when."

"Awesome."

He busies himself for the next few minutes with fixing the roofing injury; when he's through putting in neatly arranged stitches, he asks her to tie off the knot at the end to finish the job off.

Which she does, with all the confidence of someone who has done combat first aid since she was eighteen.

"There. You're in one piece again. Maybe next time you attack a roof, y'need armour."

"Or backup," he suggests.

He leans over and presses a kiss against her cheek.

"Thank you, love."

Trudy grins at him. "I'd say any time, but I do prefer you with your blood on the inside."

"Got it," he says.

It doesn't take long to put a bandage on either; when he's done, he settles at the table.

"So how have you been?"

"Dealing with young children the same size as me. The Na'vi kids are fascinated by my hair."

Her smile turns wry.

"Wouldn't be diplomatic to threaten to bite them if they pulled it again, though."

"You can tell them your boyfriend would prefer it if they didn't pull your hair."

He glances over towards the bar.

"It looks like I missed a while during the time I was out," he adds, motioning a waitrat over. "But I had Bar hang onto your present for me."

"Then I'd have to explain 'bout boyfriends."

Then she blinks.

"...present?"

"Apparently it was Christmas," he shrugs. "And while this isn't much, I've had it in mind for awhile."

A few words exchanged with the rat, and then it scurries off to grab something from Bar. It returns with what appears to be a tree made of strawberries in a coffee mug.

"Oh, hell, I didn't get you anything, I'm sor-"

She stops.

Blinks.

And then bursts out into a peel of delighted laughter.

Grinning, Carl shakes his head.

"Y'don't have to worry about it," he promises.

Her enthusiasm for the ridiculous coffee mug is a gift in itself.

"Sure I do, fair's fair."

Beat.

"You can have the first strawberry."

"Sounds good to me," he says.

He plucks two strawberries out of the pile and hands one over -- but he does take the first bite of his.

She smiles, and nibbles at her own, just to savour it. Hmm, strawberries and chocolate.

"I still have to take you flyin' in Pandoran air-space one of these days."

"You do," he says. "That can be my present, once you figure it out."

No pressure and no rush -- he knows her world is busy at the best of times and chaotic at the worst.

"I'm back in Africa," he adds. "Same organization but a different site."

"Same people, though? Or a bunch of new faces?"