He studied the bruising, something he was familiar with from his days on the pitch, and his aggressive and tactical playing technique. He'd often gone up for a head and collided with another, or landed badly, taken a boot to almost ever part of his anatomy and some of those had been off the pitch. To his untrained eyes these were borderline, and he'd be happier if she had a professional opinion.
"He's got a pool house, or somethin' one of the blokes said, treats all kinds. Been there at least six years." He shook his head. "Not m' place t' tell you how t' look after y'self," he said, looking from one injury to the other, frowning. He was still getting used to her independence, himself having become used to working with a team, especially when it came to injuries. He knew this was something about them that was completely opposite, and he had to swallow the urge to just order her into the car and take her to see the doc.
Instead he sat down, indicated her injuries with his water bottle and grudgingly add, "if they don't start healing up properly it might be worth a visit," he suggested, taking a swig of water from the bottle to swallow down the concern.