Content Warning: Skin trauma, maybe?
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"Not there, not there, stop, stop, stop!"
"Will you settle down for just one moment! Goodness gracious. The trial cannot proceed until all the jurymen are back in their proper places— so lie back down, if his majesty can manage."
Gloveless for the occasion, Jervis stood with one hand on his hip while the other gripped a bottle of aloe vera gel. Spread out on a double mattress before him, convulsing and squawking obscenities, was Jonathan.
By his own fervent admission, Jonathan was not fond of the beach, and despite his objections, he recently found himself sitting on one anyways. It was a wonderful day for a seaside promenade, his capricious better half had decided, but for all the professor cared Jervis could promenade by his own goddamn self and he promptly fell asleep under the umbrella, partially out of protest and partially out of sheer boredom. That had been around ten in the morning, and when he awoke some six hours later, the forcible beach-goer discovered with a nasty start that the sun had shifted to the other side of the sky, cruelly taking the shadow shielding him from its rays along with it. Without the umbrella's protection, Jonathan baked like a surly, bespectacled loaf of bread.
Now here he was, splayed out on his stomach, decorated with awful burns that resembled a pair of red, knee-high mesh stockings and one lone opera length cocktail glove to match. The right half of his face had also been branded with searingly painful rouge, as if the sun itself had slapped him across the face for his insolence. The back of his neck had seen better days as well, and he had in fact been so still that day that one could spot little white slivers impressed into his red blob, suggesting the placement individual hairs. All the while Jervis fussed and sniggered.
"Jonathan darling, you're red as anything. Now quit your squirming so I can get a clear shot at fixing you up."
The Scarecrow– forced to strip down to nothing but his undergarments—obliged, but just barely, grousing and hissing at every gentle touch. He practically screeched when the first glob of coolant was applied to the base of his skull, semi-intentionally scrambling to the far end of the bed and probably smearing both of their pillows with teal goo in the process. Jervis swiped at him halfheartedly, luckily missing by some margin, as he likely would have snagged the obstinate thing by one of his smarting injuries.
"Oh for Heaven's sake! For a man whose endured being set on fire multiple times, you've got skin like a little baby."
Jonathan all but made the sign of the cross.
"Don't you come near me with that bottle, Jervis, don't you administer even one dollop more."
"Dear, you're making an ass of yourself."
"And you're suppressing my right to do that! I've had much worse than a few silly sunburns; I think I'll survive."
Tetch heaved a frustrated groan but made no move to protest. 'Ah,' his partner thought, climbing gingerly out of bed, embarrassed but not defeated, 'I knew that's what this was all about. He doesn't care about these burns in the least, all he wanted was a chance to play nursemaid. But of course even he knows that it doesn't count as help if it's unwant—'his smug train of thought ended abruptly, when a patch of an exposed burn brushed against the sharp corner of his small makeshift nightstand. In response to the discomfort, he scarcely made a sound, opting instead to freeze up and hiss quietly through his teeth, as though someone had reached over and pulled a pin, letting all of his hot air escape like a deflated tire. Jervis didn't bother to mask his malicious giggles. "Alright luv?"
Recovering somewhat, the contused and now thoroughly shamed criminal turned his eyes to his partner, both of which blazed like it was the end of the world. "Yes."