Arms Hotel, Room 321; Sunday
Sean was listening for footsteps in the hallway, hoping that Annja would return; every time he heard footsteps, he got his hopes up. But when they never stopped at the door, he would resume the pacing
Annja let herself back into their room quietly, looking a little more worse for wear than she had when she left. Her hair was tangled and there was a cut down the side of her neck, as well as a scratch on her face. Her side was bleeding a little, but she still moved with all of the grace of the jungle cats she adored.
She had hoped that maybe she could slip in unnoticed, but then low, emotional music started up again.
Sean was well attuned to his wife's presence, so even if the music hadn't alerted him to her presence, he'd have known.
He turned from the bar only to gasp. "Annja, what happened?"
Annja shook her head, trying to wave off his concern, but she gasped in pain, her eyes clouding over for a moment as she reacted to it.
"I'm fine," she insisted as the music grew a little ominous. "Just a scratch, that's all."
"That's one hell of a scratch," Sean said, going to his wife and putting an arm around her shoulders, leading her over to the bed instead of the couch since it'd probably be more comfortable for the injured woman. "You're going to sit down and I'm going to patch you up."
"Hit woman," she said as the camera did a close up on her artfully mussed hair. "She was waiting for me when I left here."
"Oh, God," Sean said, rage filling his eyes. "Who would want to do that to you?"
"Sean, you don't become a famous archaeologist and site protector like I have over the years without attracting a few enemies," she said airily. "It's not the first and will not be the last."
"But how many of them can really afford to take a hit out on you?" He paused. "On second thought, don't answer that. My money's on that asshole Braden, anyway. Ever since he tried to steal you away from me on our honeymoon, he's had it in for us."
He stood, quickly retrieving some damp rags and a first-aid kid, bringing them back with him as he sat next to her.
"Garin would be more likely to try to kill you, sweetheart," she said, the endearment slipping out as she looked at him. Her voice turned slightly husky. "You don't need to do this. I'll be fine."
"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "You're not exactly in any condition to patch yourself up." He handed her two advil and a small cup of water. "Besides, you're my wife. It's in the job description for anybody who marries Annja Creed, right under 'be willing to understand the completely random subject changes in her conversations.'"
[After this. Preplayed with annjaofthesword and continued in comments.]