A kick to the side of the knee. A well placed jab in the shoulder. A knee to the abdomen. One last knee to the man's face and he was out like a light. Sebastia straightened, stretching her neck one way then the other and rolling her shoulders. She had gotten lucky with this job so far, but she was starting to think it was too big for her. Her target's hired hands were clumsy and untrained, and they were spread throughout the building, so she could take them out one by one. She was starting to tire though, and her knuckles and muscles were aching. She was almost done, and she kept reminding herself of that. She was almost done and the pay would be good. Another oblivious goon hit the ground, and she busted through the last door, putting a bullet through the man's head.
Done.
She wasn't sure how she got to John's flat, but by the time she made it to the door she was so exhausted she simply crumpled against it, sinking to the ground. Her eyelids fell shut, and everything stopped hurting.
She woke up to pain. There was a dull ache throughout her entire body, but past that pain there was comfort. She was confused for a moment until she smelled John's soap on the pillow. He must've brought her inside, the stupid sap. She winced as she stretched, the bliss of it muddled by her muscle's protests. Pushing the blankets aside, she rolled out of bed. She was still wearing the same clothes, and they were streaked with blood in some places. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and stripped her clothes off, pulling out one of John's t-shirts and tugging it over her head. Running a hand through her hair, she padded out to the living room where John sat with a cuppa.
"Morning."
She nodded and tried to rub her eye, wincing as her hand pressed against her tender skin.
"I feel atrocious."
"You look atrocious," John replied. He set his cup down and moved from his chair to the couch, beginning his inspection. He looked her over carefully with feather light touches. She sat patiently with her eyes shut, occasionally cringing if he brushed an especially tender bruise. When his fingers trailed up her neck to cup either side of her jaw, she opened her eyes to look into his. "Looks like you went through the ringer." He kissed the tip of her nose and stood, heading for the kitchen. "I'll make you some breakfast."
Sebastia smiled, watching until he was out of sight. There were never questions, just tender care. If this was where it let out, she would gladly go through the ringer again.