"Hold still," Mary hisses. She's deceptively strong for her tiny frame, but Harley's stronger. Her arm jerks out of Mary's grasp.
"I can do this myself, you don't have to."
"I insist." Her eyes are serious, her pout strong. Harley finds it hard to argue when she pulls a face like that. Damn manipulator. "You took a bullet for me, this is the least I can do."
"Ain't the first time I got shot," she says, jerking her head away. She can't look, this just— Dammit! "Really, I wish you'd stop digging. This hurts, y'know."
"Almost got it."
Harley whines and grips the edges of her rickety chair, kicking out her feet. This dingy bathroom ain't the most sterile of places for an operation like this. Harley would've been good for another couple of hours before her arm would've started to bother her, but Mary, sweet Mary, who's blessedly unaware of the trouble you can put your injured body through before things start to get really hairy, had been too antsy to make a getaway with Harley bleeding all over the place. She'd probably been worried about Harley leaving a trail or fainting from blood loss. Which would have inconvenient, since Harley's been carrying her.
Harley sighs. "Can't even kidnap people in peace anymore. There's anxious do-gooders and trigger-happy police everywhere."
"This is all my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to come."
"No need to apologize, sweetie. I had a blast. Didn't you?"
Mary smiles. "So did I."