Unlike a number of others frustrated by the events of the previous night, May had yet to wantonly smash anything into little tiny bits. That wasn't because she didn't want to. But the second they'd gotten back inside the bunker, Aiden had seen the blood on her shirt and it was off to the infirmary. May hadn't protested much, though; she was too tired, and the team heading off to the beach camp was long gone. There wasn't much left for her to screw up, really.
She was right about the scratches - they weren't deep enough to be a real problem, if House's comments about "cat scratch fever" were any indication, and it didn't take much to clean and bandage her side. So she fell asleep fairly easily, too tired to really complain about being babied.
The morning was another story. It was House, of all people, who informed her about the dead people on the beach, and also tried to give her a hard time about getting up and around in her condition. May had grabbed his cane and informed him exactly what she was going to do with it and where she was going to put it if he didn't get out of her way. "Promise?" was his response.
"Only if you really want a demonstration," she'd snarled. He had snickered, but moved aside and caught his cane deftly, limping off to find someone else to torture.
She stopped in her old room and fished her spare canisters out of her backpack as well as the web-shooters, refilling and rewrapping them after slipping them on. Might as well be prepared for the next crisis. Grabbing a t-shirt someone had left in the room, she headed down the corridor, looking around for someone who might know what was going on.
She turned a corner and promptly collided with someone else, who had been staring at something to the side. "Oof!"
"Sorry," a familiar voice said.
May looked up to see that she'd just walked into Chris. "Hey. You're back. What's going on?"
He blinked, a bit startled, looking down at her midsection. "Um..."
May looked down, and realized that she hadn't actually put on the T-shirt she'd grabbed, but was walking around in shorts and a sports bra. "Oh." She hastily pulled the shirt over her head, reddening despite the fact that Chris's attention had been drawn more to the bandages than to her lack of shirt. "I mean, what's happening at the beach? Is there anything I can do?" (And is House just a stupid lying bastard who was joking about seven dead people?)
[Mayday] So not a morning person
She was right about the scratches - they weren't deep enough to be a real problem, if House's comments about "cat scratch fever" were any indication, and it didn't take much to clean and bandage her side. So she fell asleep fairly easily, too tired to really complain about being babied.
The morning was another story. It was House, of all people, who informed her about the dead people on the beach, and also tried to give her a hard time about getting up and around in her condition. May had grabbed his cane and informed him exactly what she was going to do with it and where she was going to put it if he didn't get out of her way. "Promise?" was his response.
"Only if you really want a demonstration," she'd snarled. He had snickered, but moved aside and caught his cane deftly, limping off to find someone else to torture.
She stopped in her old room and fished her spare canisters out of her backpack as well as the web-shooters, refilling and rewrapping them after slipping them on. Might as well be prepared for the next crisis. Grabbing a t-shirt someone had left in the room, she headed down the corridor, looking around for someone who might know what was going on.
She turned a corner and promptly collided with someone else, who had been staring at something to the side. "Oof!"
"Sorry," a familiar voice said.
May looked up to see that she'd just walked into Chris. "Hey. You're back. What's going on?"
He blinked, a bit startled, looking down at her midsection. "Um..."
May looked down, and realized that she hadn't actually put on the T-shirt she'd grabbed, but was walking around in shorts and a sports bra. "Oh." She hastily pulled the shirt over her head, reddening despite the fact that Chris's attention had been drawn more to the bandages than to her lack of shirt. "I mean, what's happening at the beach? Is there anything I can do?" (And is House just a stupid lying bastard who was joking about seven dead people?)