2013.04.21 - Post-Museum Patch-Up

The trip home is uneventful even if hurried, the need to get Sean bandaged up and them both off the radar for awhile over-riding silly things like adhering to the speed limit and other silly traffic rules. "Hold on..." At the front door to the place Hanna calls home, she takes a second to make sure no one's milling about the hallway. "First aid kit is in the bathroom," she starts at the same time she undoes several locks. "You get that and I'll put some coffee on. It is going to be a long night."

The door's pushed open and she goes in first, flick on the light so they can see. The apartment is small but tidy and in good condition despite the rough neighborhood she lives in.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Ryan replies. He shrugs out of his armored coat, which THUNKS heavily when it hits the floor. Durendal is laid gently on top, then he rids himself of his suit coat and shirt.

Scars. So many scars. Ryan's arms and upper body look like a road map of cruelty and hard-earned experience. Many of them were made by the distinctive, curling cuts of a whip. Others are easy to identify as bullet holes or slashes from edged weapons. Some are less distinct.

By the time Hanna returns, he's got the first aid kit in hand and is attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. He really was lucky. It's a small puncture wound, and clean through. Painful, but not permanently damaging. The hit to his back turns out to be little more than a deep gouge, his armor having soaked up most of the bayonet thrust.

"And how many times have I heard that only to have you about collapse on me?" That feels so weird to say and Hanna finds herself pausing, that needed to be thought over a bit before she can go about her business. The promised coffee is set to brew and then she comes into the space set aside as the living quarters so she can help him.

"Here, let me help," but while she made the suggestion she's also grabbing for his arm, not about to give him a chance to give her lip over it. "You're right. It isn't that bad. But this will still hurt."

A bottle of alcohol is gotten from the kit as well as fresh gauze, items used to wash all of his injuries. "You were very brave, Sean..."

"You know, I don't let anyone else call me that. I make everyone call me Ryan. And my enemies call me 'Blanco.'" The big man chuckles and submits himself willingly to Hanna's care. It feels familiar. Safe. Comfortable. Just as it does when he rests his uninjured hand on her hip. "I like hearing my name when you say it, though."

Another short laugh, and Ryan shakes his head as well. "Anyway, I dunno if I'd call that bravery. Anymore, I just know what to do when a fight comes around. Like picking up the shield. I knew if I was going to survive, I was going to need it." He pauses and gives Hanna's hip a little squeeze. "Besides, it's not like I was going to let anything happen to you."

He steals her breath away with that one touch and she finds herself now loathed to move away so she can further cleanse his wounds and patch him up. "I will call you brave if I want to," comes breathily in the form of a huskily-spoken retort. "And I will even go as far as to say you looked very good while being so." Her chin angles up a little and she purses her lips, daring him to disagree.

The puncture wound is washed and wrapped and then, with a sigh, she moves around so she can work on cleaning his back. "I wish I knew what it was we were faced by," she adds once she applies some alcohol to the rend in his flesh, trying not to stare too long at his scars.

"If I had to guess, I'd say zombie with telekinetic powers." Ryan glances up and raises an eyebrow. "What? Just because a guy can shoot and swing a sword, he can't read comics? Guys who read comics can start some shit."

He grins and continues. "I mean... Undead, obviously. Now that it's re-dead, I don't think it really matters how it was controlling the armor." Remaining still for the first aid and a thorough examination isn't easy, but Ryan manages, focusing instead on his own thoughts.

"I didn't take you for the type to read them," confesses the mage-now-medic. The first aid is complete and he now has a huge square bandaid to go with the wrapping of batting about his forearm but she doesn't move yet. She instead pauses there and reaches out to use a finger to trace one of the numerous scars that has been forever mapped upon his body. "Oh... sorry. Uh, coffee?"

The need to retreat thankfully has a purpose besides needing to remove herself from Ryan's person and she turns to hurry into the kitchen to fetch them both a mug of the blessed brew but the way she turns will make it easy for him to grab her by the arm or shoulder if he doesn't wish her to go.

He does let her go, though. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, even the stoic and stout-hearted Ryan is having trouble assimilating it all. He takes deep, steadying breaths while Hanna is gone. By the time she gets back with the coffee, he has himself composed. He leans slightly forward in his seat to keep from putting pressure on any of his wounds.

"Thanks," he says, accepting a cup gratefully. "So... That's pretty much what we do? Go looking for lions and tigers and bears, oh my? And then kill them?"

Ryan's guided to the couch and gestured to sit. The kind of conversations they are going to have for awhile are the kind best had while not on one's feet. Once he's comfortable she joins him and even leans into him a little as she prepares herself for the next leg of their talk.

"Usually it is more a case of the lions, tigers and bears coming to find us like the guy at the museum did. We do try to kill them, however." She then starts to talk about a few of the past fights they had, some he might recall and others he might not, examples of all of the nasties that have come to hunt them down.

"I remember the Kraken." Ryan's voice is very quiet. His coffee has been set aside. "You begged me not to go. I knew, though. There wasn't any other way. I didn't say goodbye, but you knew I wasn't coming back. You kissed me before I got on my horse."

Sean turns to peer at Hanna, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed. "I'm having a hard time sorting out old feelings from new ones," he admits.

Hanna rests her hand over Sean's chest, fingers pressed against his body, right over his heart. It's something she has done that he'll remember for how often she has done it with the night she was in the locker room at his work being the most recent. "And then you came back and we... celebrated."

At the last she merely nods for a moment, her eyes hold to his. "I think we're not really supposed to." And honestly, Hanna doesn't want him to, nor does she want to separate what happened in the past to what's happening between them now.

"Shut up, Sean," he agrees, both with Hanna and with his own thoughts. He doesn't look away, studying his own reflection in her eyes for a very long time.

Then he takes her in his arms, cradles her against his chest, and kisses her gently.

She was hoping beyond hope that Sean would kiss her but was trying to be logical over it all. They technically did just meet and are still in the process of learning about each other as well as establishing this new relationship and she didn't want to push too hard to soon.

Thank God he finally removes her of that fear and she finds herself letting herself press into it. Hanna keeps it chaste but he should be able to feel it, that sense of yearning that often precedes shows of affection between them.

When he finally breaks the kiss, Ryan leans back and looks into Hanna's eyes again. "I remember that, too," he murmurs. Strong, battle-scarred hands reach up to cup her cheeks tenderly. "C'mon. Let's go do some more remembering."