"I know you will," Marian said, and of that she felt sure enough. He was talking and able to move around. Nothing seemed broken and nothing seemed internally ruptured. This would all heal, with time.
And as she carefully wiped away the blood with warm water she was able to see where it came from, able to see where the injuries lay and what was just blood from somewhere else.
Running the cloth down Robin's arm, Marian had a sudden flash of another time like this, of being in the position that he was in right now. In sweeping disgust and shock she almost dropped the cloth, almost pushed herself away from the tub.
But she didn't. She held fast. She kept the memory off her face and out of her hands.
But Marian couldn't help but remember the way that the wet washcloth had felt against her own skin when it was in the hands of the Sheriff, the way that it had both soothed and revolted her. The way he'd let the cloth and the pretense go and slid his fingers inside her instead, the way that that had almost been better because at least it had been honest in its intentions.
"I love you," Marian told Robin, because it was so much better to think on how she could help him right now, and on how this was nothing like that. This was her and Robin together against the world, just like it was meant to be. The Sheriff and her had never been like that. "You'll be looking like a bruised peach for a time."