[ Which isn’t entirely accurate. The wound had been stitched together, but it still twinges, still aches. The bottle of painkillers clicks quietly in his pocket, but pride keeps him from taking too many of those. He’ll just self-medicate with a few bottles of vodka if he absolutely needs to.
He peers at her, doesn’t seem entirely convinced that she’s slept at all, and it shows in the furrow on his brow, in the thin set of his lips. The look that silently calls bullshit.
The doors ping quietly, slide open to spill them out into the hospital’s lobby. A quiet flow of people in and out, soft and subdued, and Faraday hops along with Emma as they move through to the car waiting outside. ]
When are we going home?
[ Because Emma’s not the only one itching for something familiar. With their work being what it is, neither of them spend much time at home. But this job has been— rough. He has a fridge full of beer with his name on it, and sleeping in his own bed sounds like a goddamn luxury. ]
no subject
[ Which isn’t entirely accurate. The wound had been stitched together, but it still twinges, still aches. The bottle of painkillers clicks quietly in his pocket, but pride keeps him from taking too many of those. He’ll just self-medicate with a few bottles of vodka if he absolutely needs to.
He peers at her, doesn’t seem entirely convinced that she’s slept at all, and it shows in the furrow on his brow, in the thin set of his lips. The look that silently calls bullshit.
The doors ping quietly, slide open to spill them out into the hospital’s lobby. A quiet flow of people in and out, soft and subdued, and Faraday hops along with Emma as they move through to the car waiting outside. ]
When are we going home?
[ Because Emma’s not the only one itching for something familiar. With their work being what it is, neither of them spend much time at home. But this job has been— rough. He has a fridge full of beer with his name on it, and sleeping in his own bed sounds like a goddamn luxury. ]