Marie-Ange & Wade | Friday Evening (backdated)

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Wade changes the bandage on Marie-Ange's wound after the events of Poisoned Honey.

Grabbing the plastic bag the people at the clinic had stuffed with various medical supplies, Wade headed back into Marie-Ange's room and quirked an eyebrow. "Alright, ladybird. Let's do this thing." Her bandages needed changing, the slice on her arm needed a bit of cleaning, and Wade was definitely the guy for the job.

Marie-Ange frowned, and made a face - the choice between struggling to clean the wound herself, with her off-hand or letting someone else do it - and see her in pain was no good choice at all. "I know, I just do not have to like it." It was going to scar, regardless, and the wound was ugly and hurt, even with topical painkillers. Better Wade than say, Nico though. Or Jubilee, or Cammie. She might've accepted Amanda though.

"You don't have to like it," Wade agreed, putting the bag of supplies down on the bed and then pulling his shirt off over his head. "But I bet you like this." Then he waggled his eyebrows. "Pick a scar, any scar - I'll tell you about it while I get you put to rights." She had a multitude to choose from, though some of them he'd already told her about.

"You are only taking your shirt off so you do not ruin your clothes when my horrible wound leaks on you." Marie-Ange pulled one foot up under her and wiggled around so that her arm was closer to Wade. "You pick one. With the way that I have been making choices this last week, I would pick the one that is 'oh I fell on a pizza cutter'and does not have an interesting story."

"I'm taking off my shirt so my manly physique might distract you - and I'm doing it shamelessly," Wade said, flexing his arms a little before he looked down at himself and shrugged. "Right, so this one here, the circular one on my side - it goes all the way through. Matching circle on the back." As he spoke, he picked up a pair of scissors and very, very carefully cut the bandage that was wrapped around Marie-Ange's arm. Once that had been taken care of and he'd made sure none of the tape was going to cause a problem, he continued, "This dude in Zaire didn't like the way I was handling a job - namely keeping him from killing my client, right? So he took it upon himself to shove a pole through me in an attempt to slow me down. Didn't work. Pole got stuck, though."

Lifting the edge of the bandage, Wade was careful to make sure none of the healing wound had gotten stuck. "Dragged that damn pole halfway across town as I chased him down - it was a bitch to get out. I much prefer arrows, if I have to deal with wood."

"A whole pole? Did that not affect your internal organs?" Marie-Ange tried to crane her head to see where the scar went through, and where the pole must have passed out. "That seems like it would ow ow I do not like having this exposed to the air it stings ow." Which was actually fairly close to what she'd intended to say, and also a reaction to the wound being unbandaged. "Sticking people with poles is impolite."

"It's true," Wade said. "It's the height of impropriety. But what can you do? Third world country - they make due with what they've got. And apparently... they've got a lot of poles. Also, he really, really wanted to kill my client. It didn't hit any major organs or anything - the docs said, after the fact, that my healing factor took care of the internal damages quick enough. It's just the outer stuff that it's gimpy with." Being careful of Marie-Ange's wound, Wade lifted the bandage the rest of the way off and frowned for a moment before blowing gently on it in an effort to ease the sting. "Anyway, it'll sting more when I have to swab it with alcohol, so brace yourself."

"Next time knock me out first." Marie-Ange said, possibly seriously. "He did not stick your client with a pole, did he? I hope it did not have a traffic sign on it oh merde that is not at all comfortable." The muttering switched to profane French and she grabbed a pillow and dug her fingers in. "Yes, next time definitely knock me out first."

"My shoulder might be more satisfying to squeeze than that pillow, just saying," Wade murmured, eyes on the wound as he cleaned it. He checked to make sure that whatever was oozing out of it wasn't weirdly colored and that nothing smelled odd before finishing up with the alcohol swab and tossing it in the bin next to the bed. Then he checked the wound to see if it was hot, though it didn't seem much redder than it ought to be given its current stage of healing. "Seems good - and no, the pole didn't have a sign on it. It was just a pole. A traditional one - spear, maybe. He also didn't actually manage to get to my client - I'm very good at protecting people. That paranoia you mock so often can come in pretty handy sometimes." He was grinning as he looked up and reached for the gauze and bandages to recover the wound.

"It does. I raided the stash you left in my nightstand." Marie-Ange nodded towards the aforementioned nightstand. "Unless that was one of Doug's, but he did not claim it when I asked." Her voice came haltingly, words between hisses and little grunts of pain. "Also your shoulder is busy making your arm poke my very irritating wound, and I would like this done and over with so I can not have to look at it." It was not an attractive sort of wound. "Spears have pointy ends made from something else, no? So maybe it was a sharpened pole?"

"It was one of mine," Wade affirmed, placing the gauze carefully before he began wrapping the bandage around it. "There's another strapped to one of the slats beneath the bed and one in the bathroom hidden behind the mirror. For reference. In case you ever need to know about them. Also, knives in the flower pots in the living room, under the couch, and strapped to the underside of the coffee table. I didn't bother adding anything to the kitchen, since it was so well stocked."

"When did you add a weapons cache to Amanda's apartment?" Marie-Ange asked, managing to look at Wade with mixed awe and amusement and skepticism even while he taped the bandages down and she made little 'this does not feel good at all!' noises. "You know that I can make my own knives, yes?"

"Oh, I know," Wade said, grinning. "It's one of those sexy, sexy things I like about you. But what if someone busts in and has a powers dampener or something? Also, your knives are all ectoplasm-y and stuff sometimes. Bullets aren't. And I've just sort of put a thing here or there - it's not like I walked in with everything in a duffle one day and hid it all while you two were at Snow Valley. Also, that's not really a cache. Remind me to show you one of my actual caches. Actual caches come with passports and cash and assault rifles."

"We can trade, although mine are small and portable." Marie-Ange said. "Passbooks and cash. Most of us have them, after the time we were caught out in Africa." She grunted - entirely impolite - at the last bit of tape being patted down. "And hair dye in some, contact lenses, some have clothes. I am too auburn, Cammie is too green, Remy's eyes are very distinctive."

"Oh, dye," Wade said, beginning to put the medical supplies back in their bag. "I had to go blond once. It's an experience I don't really want to repeat. I looked weird. You want any painkillers or are you good for now?"

"No, this is uncomfortable but not debilitating." Marie-Ange explained very carefully before leaning her head into Wade's shoulder and giggling - and wincing between giggles - at the idea of him with platinum blond hair. "It would be all wrong for you, I think."

Grinning, Wade nodded and kissed the crown of Marie-Ange's head. "Like I said, I looked weird. Super weird. And I had to talk like a valley guy and wear board shorts and do you know how difficult it is to carry a knife in board shorts?"

"Try a bikini." Marie-Ange said. "There is nothing you can hide in a bikini. It is simply not possible."

"I don't think you actually want me to try concealing a weapon in a bikini," Wade said, still smiling. "I mean, I think I've got a bit more junk in my trunk-like-regions than's usually called for. And I wouldn't want to like. Make babies cry or anything."

"I like your trunk like regions." Marie-Ange said. "I am sure that if we ever had to do something in Europe, you would look fine in a speedo." It was hard to tell how serious she was being, if you didn't know her well enough to know that the little twisty smile was an indication that she was trying not to giggle again.

"I do look pretty awesome in a speedo, it's true," Wade deadpanned, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Marie-Ange's forehead. "Wound bandaged, scars explained. What else can I do for you, ladybird?"

"Open car doors for me, drive me to get good soup and chewy sourdough bread." Marie-Ange said, with a firm nod.

"That I think I can definitely manage," Wade said, pushing himself up and off the bed. "Shirt on or off for our soup acquisition excursion?" He dangled his shirt in front of her nose, grinning widely.

Marie-Ange swatted at the shirt. "As much as I would like to say you should never put it on again, I think most places, they want you to wear a shirt and shoes, yes?"

Laughing, Wade pulled the shirt on and then paused. "We should go to the beach this summer. People walk around shirtless all the time at the beach. Also, colorful drinks with umbrellas." Offering Marie-Ange a hand up, Wade waggled his eyebrows.

"You will have to help me with sunscreen. I burn all too fast, and I do not tan at all." Marie-Ange said, impishly. "Such a hardship, no?"

"Such a hardship," Wade said, feigning dismay. "Why is my life so hard?"

"It is because you tease me with umbrella drinks when I cannot have any because of painkillers." Marie-Ange pouted. "You are a terrible person."