His breaths came in short and ragged as he felt her tear open his vest and shirt in search of the wound. Even as she worked, he could tell it was bad. Years of being patched up by healers had led him to at least vaguely recognize when something was serious and when it wasn't. Everyone had their own bedside technique, but the wounds stayed the same, telling him when it was time to stop pushing the injury to its limits and sit down. Though he by no means was the worst (it was likely Sterling) Faustus knew this was a bad habit of his; had it confirmed by the glare Miss Skovgaard had sent him just before he fell backward. He would have laughed had he not been focusing on holding himself together.
He lay there while she worked, knowing even talking would likely just distract her. He did his best to shift his bodyweight and not encumber her as she wrapped strips of — what was this? He glanced over at her curiously, and then immediately stared straight back up at the ceiling. Merlin's Beard, she was using her own petticoats to dress his wounds. If he hadn't owed her before, he most certainly did now. The urge to apologize was on his lips but he fell silent as soon as she spoke. Felt the gentle pressure she applied to his chest and winced as he felt her find the bruising.
Faustus knew it was coming - knew it was his turn eventually, seeing as he'd performed the spell on her just earlier this evening, even though it seemed like a lifetime ago. He nodded, bracing himself, knowing there was really nothing to be done at this point. The spell hit him and he felt his ribs snap — or rather it felt as if they did, even if they were merely fusing back together — and he shouted as the pain crackled along his spine.
And then it was over. He breathed in and out steadily, testing the limits of his ribs as Miss Skovgaard pressed on the spot to make sure it had healed properly. He glanced over at her, seeing the concern written across her face, plain as day. Did she always look this concerned for her patients? It was most likely if she had as kind a soul as he thought she did. Faustus smiled, wanting to ease the tension he saw in her shoulders as she looked at him. "Better, thank you." He said, only realizing he was holding her hand when he absently ran his thumb over her knuckles.
He only felt himself let her hand go under the premise of attempting to sit up. The wound in his side still smarted, but he knew it was a small price to pay compared to if she hadn't been here. As he eased forward, he came face to face with her, his eyes moving down to her ankle. His brow furrowed in concern. "Be honest." He said quietly, knowing he was the epitome of a hypocrite given the nonsense he'd told her when she asked him the same question. "How does your ankle feel?" Faustus fixed her with a gaze he usually only employed to warn others that he would know if they were lying to him.
He lay there while she worked, knowing even talking would likely just distract her. He did his best to shift his bodyweight and not encumber her as she wrapped strips of — what was this? He glanced over at her curiously, and then immediately stared straight back up at the ceiling. Merlin's Beard, she was using her own petticoats to dress his wounds. If he hadn't owed her before, he most certainly did now. The urge to apologize was on his lips but he fell silent as soon as she spoke. Felt the gentle pressure she applied to his chest and winced as he felt her find the bruising.
Faustus knew it was coming - knew it was his turn eventually, seeing as he'd performed the spell on her just earlier this evening, even though it seemed like a lifetime ago. He nodded, bracing himself, knowing there was really nothing to be done at this point. The spell hit him and he felt his ribs snap — or rather it felt as if they did, even if they were merely fusing back together — and he shouted as the pain crackled along his spine.
And then it was over. He breathed in and out steadily, testing the limits of his ribs as Miss Skovgaard pressed on the spot to make sure it had healed properly. He glanced over at her, seeing the concern written across her face, plain as day. Did she always look this concerned for her patients? It was most likely if she had as kind a soul as he thought she did. Faustus smiled, wanting to ease the tension he saw in her shoulders as she looked at him. "Better, thank you." He said, only realizing he was holding her hand when he absently ran his thumb over her knuckles.
He only felt himself let her hand go under the premise of attempting to sit up. The wound in his side still smarted, but he knew it was a small price to pay compared to if she hadn't been here. As he eased forward, he came face to face with her, his eyes moving down to her ankle. His brow furrowed in concern. "Be honest." He said quietly, knowing he was the epitome of a hypocrite given the nonsense he'd told her when she asked him the same question. "How does your ankle feel?" Faustus fixed her with a gaze he usually only employed to warn others that he would know if they were lying to him.