Micah Castro Braden // Doctor Watson, I presume (acatalyst) wrote in bellumlogs,
He left his door ajar, because he didn't care if anything was stolen, and because he just wasn't accustomed to needing to lock his neighbors out; it was unheard of where he came from, closing out the people you lived around.
The walk down the hall wasn't a long one; just a slow curve around the winding stair. He didn't hurry, though, careful not to jostle her. When she hid her face, he didn't try to invade her privacy to see why, though he suspected she was trying to hide weakness or pain. Whichever it was, it made him glad he hadn't allowed her to walk herself, crutches or no.
"I suspect throwing you around might be the only way to get what I want," he quipped, shifting his weight slightly, settling her more comfortably against his chest. "You're going to put that ankle up as soon as you get inside," he told her. "Mr. Marion can come to you," he added, immediately followed by, "just don't let him inside if you're so concerned about your privacy."
He didn't ask if that was the case, because it was a given, a fact, something he wouldn't change his opinion on, even if she chose to dispute it.