And he doesn't bitch for the rest of it, one raised eyebrow in a reply she isn't looking at to notice before sinking into silence.

He closes his eyes, too, after a while; as if to retreat somewhere else that is both less painful and vulnerable both, and taking small satisfaction that the beast's claws had sold quite well, especially once he'd cleaned them. By the time she's done, it may take effort to bleed the tension out of his muscles, hard along his spine.