Just something I had lying around and felt like sharing :)
Enjoy
Evangeline gawked at the sight before her as Gregory and Christophe entered their shared apartment bloodied, bruised, and beaten after returning from their newest hit. "What the fuck?! You two look worse than last time!" She exclaimed, rushing over to them to inspect their wounds. Gregory gave a small note of apology while Christophe merely scoffed at her fussing. The two took a seat on the couch as she went to grab her medical kit.
When she came back, she found that the french teen had propped his feet on the coffee table, muddied boots and all. With a swift kick to his legs, she was able to push them off the glass, making the other shout in protest. "Ze fook waz zat for, Eva?" He hissed, a few french swears following directly afterward. "Iz zis 'ow you treat your normal patients?!"
"Hmph! At least they don't put their dirty shoes on my table!" She retorted.
From the other side of Christophe, Gregory sighed as the two went on with their bickering.
After an hour and a half, the duo were disinfected, bandaged, and sent off to their rooms to heal. Christophe had complained, quite loudly, about being last, reasoning that since he was the closest to Evangeline he should have been patched up first. She blatantly ignored him, and instead had gone to Gregory first after he'd waited so patiently for them to cease their arguing. All the while, the brit explained how he and the french boy had ended up in the sorry state they were in.
Apparently, the darker male had freaked when the guard dogs came after them after the hit was completed, and had gotten maimed before successfully escaping. By the end of the retelling, Eva had finished wrapping up the pair and had been laughing uncontrollably at the disgruntled french teen.
Now though, she sat in silence on the loveseat, leaning on one arm while her legs draped over the other, a book snuggly fit in her hands as she read. While the two males certainly livened up her life more than she'd originally guessed, the young Italian savored quiet moments like these. She tried to enjoy as much of this time as she could, but as an exhausted feeling washed over her, she didn't resist it.
Besides, playing nurse for a couple of hitmen wasn't as easy as it seemed.
He growled lowly in irritation.
Once again, the girl had fallen asleep in the living room instead of her bedroom. She was beginning to make a bad habit of it. With an irked sigh, he lifted her into his arms with ease as if she weighed like nothing, consequently causing the book balancing on her chest to fall onto the seat. He paused for a second and caught sight of what she had been reading: The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.
Shaking his head, he carried the little nurse to her room.
What was with women and tragic romances?