[ she's home first, which isn't unusual given his chosen career path on this planet. it means she's usually got time to fix them something to eat for the evening, just like it means she has grown used to the sound of arrival.
but all that means is she becomes acutely aware when something isn't Quite Right, like when his keys jangle a little more loudly than usual against the lock, prompting her to turn the stove off on her beef stew and pull the door open herself.
her eyes land on his face first, taking in the mildly guilty flinch that he quickly smothers in an impassive expression. then she notices the bleeding puncture in his clothing, wherein that brief moment she is able to assess that it is 1) non-lethal, and 2) something he could have easily avoided. that tells her two other things: 1) he let himself get hurt for some reason (a valid one, she's sure he'll point out), and 2) she should have saved their good beef for a better night.
marta meets his eyes again, her expression stoic, before slowly closing the door back in his face. the sharp sound of the lock turning echoes in the hallway. asshole can open his own damn door. ]
[ when kovacs felt the blade jam past his skin near his collar, the curse he groaned out loud hadn't been about the pain or even the worry that it could be a serious wound. no, the only thing in his mind had been the now-humorous assurance he'd given marta that these little gigs he'd be doing were a cinch and he'd be breezing through them without a scratch.
he'd known then it was a stupid promise to make, but when he rips his jacket to put some pressure on the cut, he knows it even more now.
what are the chances that he could make it home with luck that she won't be there when he arrives? that he could squeeze some time to get it cleaned and stitched up before she sees a drop of blood? no point in debating it, really. even if he did manage that, she'd never miss the injury, not with her studious eyes that have made it a habit of looking him over, the nurse in her always knowing it's essential to check with someone as reckless as he can be, or the way those fingers trace enough of his skin at night that she'd be able to feel out any part of it that's become irregular since the last time.
no, kovacs knew from the moment he got stabbed that he was royally fucked. and not in the way he typically prefers.
so when he door suddenly opens right as he's trying to get open the lock and he meets her eyes, he doesn't need to utter a word in that sharp silence to know what he's gotten himself into, even if he closes his eyes when the door slams shut again, the gust of it blowing in his face like a big ol' fuck you.
another few swears get whispered below his breath, this time a few spanish ones he'd learned to blend smoothly with the english ones, a little japanese thrown in the mix too, as he returns to dealing with the lock himself, eventually getting it open even if the task takes longer than it should.
once the door is open, he groans at the slight aggression it took to undo that lock since it had put a bit more pressure along his arm, aggravating the wound just a bit more, before stepping inside with a heavy sigh. ]
Honey, I'm home. [ spoken bluntly, with all the sarcasm and without any real cheer in any word. ]
[ in direct contrast to kovacs' emotionless tone, marta's response is all fire and spice, as if she had personally taken it upon herself to compensate for him. the apartment they've occupied for this mission is a modest one, but a little roomier than a single studio, so there's space for her voice to carry between the walk from the entrance, past the living room, to the kitchen where she comes walking out of a moment later. she's got tongs in her hand, but don't worry, that's for the beef.
the other beef.
she gestures with it to the couch, where a first aid kit is already there in wait for him. ]
[ yeah, he's studied more than enough spanish now to know what that means, though it's never worked at pulling out much annoyance from him, since most of the time, marta's swearing only tends to make him more attracted to her. when she steps back out of the kitchen with her tongs, an angry fire in her eyes, it's just a recipe for her looking just as good as ever.
but it's probably not what he should be putting too much focus on while he's ...not so much bleeding out, as he is dealing with a slight inconvenience.
he eyes the all too familiar first aid kit before he starts heading in that direction, sinking himself into the couch before peeling back the fabric from his collar to peek at the bleeding injury though his cut shirt. ]
Just an idiot that put up a bit more of a fight. Took him down ten seconds later. He got lucky.
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action | sometime during a matter of import
but all that means is she becomes acutely aware when something isn't Quite Right, like when his keys jangle a little more loudly than usual against the lock, prompting her to turn the stove off on her beef stew and pull the door open herself.
her eyes land on his face first, taking in the mildly guilty flinch that he quickly smothers in an impassive expression. then she notices the bleeding puncture in his clothing, wherein that brief moment she is able to assess that it is 1) non-lethal, and 2) something he could have easily avoided. that tells her two other things: 1) he let himself get hurt for some reason (a valid one, she's sure he'll point out), and 2) she should have saved their good beef for a better night.
marta meets his eyes again, her expression stoic, before slowly closing the door back in his face. the sharp sound of the lock turning echoes in the hallway. asshole can open his own damn door. ]
no subject
he'd known then it was a stupid promise to make, but when he rips his jacket to put some pressure on the cut, he knows it even more now.
what are the chances that he could make it home with luck that she won't be there when he arrives? that he could squeeze some time to get it cleaned and stitched up before she sees a drop of blood? no point in debating it, really. even if he did manage that, she'd never miss the injury, not with her studious eyes that have made it a habit of looking him over, the nurse in her always knowing it's essential to check with someone as reckless as he can be, or the way those fingers trace enough of his skin at night that she'd be able to feel out any part of it that's become irregular since the last time.
no, kovacs knew from the moment he got stabbed that he was royally fucked. and not in the way he typically prefers.
so when he door suddenly opens right as he's trying to get open the lock and he meets her eyes, he doesn't need to utter a word in that sharp silence to know what he's gotten himself into, even if he closes his eyes when the door slams shut again, the gust of it blowing in his face like a big ol' fuck you.
another few swears get whispered below his breath, this time a few spanish ones he'd learned to blend smoothly with the english ones, a little japanese thrown in the mix too, as he returns to dealing with the lock himself, eventually getting it open even if the task takes longer than it should.
once the door is open, he groans at the slight aggression it took to undo that lock since it had put a bit more pressure along his arm, aggravating the wound just a bit more, before stepping inside with a heavy sigh. ]
Honey, I'm home. [ spoken bluntly, with all the sarcasm and without any real cheer in any word. ]
no subject
[ in direct contrast to kovacs' emotionless tone, marta's response is all fire and spice, as if she had personally taken it upon herself to compensate for him. the apartment they've occupied for this mission is a modest one, but a little roomier than a single studio, so there's space for her voice to carry between the walk from the entrance, past the living room, to the kitchen where she comes walking out of a moment later. she's got tongs in her hand, but don't worry, that's for the beef.
the other beef.
she gestures with it to the couch, where a first aid kit is already there in wait for him. ]
What happened this time?
no subject
but it's probably not what he should be putting too much focus on while he's ...not so much bleeding out, as he is dealing with a slight inconvenience.
he eyes the all too familiar first aid kit before he starts heading in that direction, sinking himself into the couch before peeling back the fabric from his collar to peek at the bleeding injury though his cut shirt. ]
Just an idiot that put up a bit more of a fight. Took him down ten seconds later. He got lucky.