"It's nothing."

"It's hardly nothing, Helen. It's… blood! Why do you always come to me in such a state of disarray?"

"Why do you always comment on it?" she challenges him with a tone and a smile that are almost playful.

He's seen, so she prowls forward, canting her head up at him with an air of defiance; he doesn't know what to make of her. He wets his thumb on his tongue, gently scrubbing at the blood before shaking his head disapprovingly.

"What happened to you, Helen?"

"I'm sure you won't believe it was just a nosebleed." She's not interested in convincing him though, because she knows the answer.

"Not with that limp." He doesn't remark on the evidence that she's taken a blow to the face; even James has an ego.

"We have a lot of enemies, darling." She shies away from the damp rag he's retrieved, but allows him to scrub the dried blood from her nose and upper lip anyway. "He hit me. I flexed my foot when I broke his ribs."

She's evidently more distraught about the bad form in what he assumes was a swinging kick than at being hit, and the brazenness causes him to exhale heavily through his nose. His obvious distress, and his candid attempts to calm his own troubled mind, are what make her relent. She manipulates his arm behind her back, moving closer to him and tugging his hand around until she rests her hand flat on his, holding it there until she's sure he won't pull away. James also still has his sensibilities.

"You don't have to worry about me, darling. Please." She has his face cupped in her hands, and pulls him down for a lingering kiss, all too aware of his temper where such things are concerned.

How can I not? he wants to demand of her, but it's lost in the way her lips meet his; instead, he pulls her all the closer, arm tight around her waist, fingers outstretched in her hair, and buries purposeful kisses in her curls. "Be careful, Helen."