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“Not much longer,” Gendry says as reassuringly as he can. He kind of wishes he wasn’t wearing the stupid Waterfall costume right now, but it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it. “Which hospital-”
“Don’t you dare take me to a fucking hospital,” Dawnbringer- Arya- snaps at him. “This is embarrassing enough for me as it is.”
Which- okay, yeah, Gendry gets her point. Dawnbringer is well known as one of the most ferocious superheroes (teetering on the line to vigilante) on the entire fucking continent. Up until very recently, Waterfall and Dawnbringer have had a longstanding rivalry and a sordid history of taking each other’s jobs and butting the other one out. Now Arya’s in his arms, bridal style, bleeding out sluggishly.
Gendry, meanwhile, is now reconciling with the fact that his roommate of several years- who he’s in love with, mind you- is his rival superhero. It’s been a very, very long week. His day job is probably pissed, but Davos will have to cope.
“Okay, well where do you recommend I take you, then?” Gendry snaps back, because he doesn’t really trust any of their friends to perform surgery on Arya and he certainly can’t do it.
“Just take me home,” Arya says. “We’ll call Sam.”
He also doesn’t like the idea of someone performing surgery on his kitchen table, but it’s that or a hospital, and Arya’s made her view on hospitals right now pretty clear.
“Fucking- fine,” Gendry says. He was hesitant to fly just because he’s not really in peak condition right now, but it’s faster than walking. He takes off and Arya yelps in a rather undignified manner, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.
“We’re not going to talk about this ever again,” she tells him seriously.
“Oh, yes we are,” he replies, and there’s silence for the rest of the flight.
He lands on their fire escape and helps Arya through the window. He tries to keep an eye on her as she stumbles for her room, and he strips off his bloodied suit before he enters.
“I’m calling Sam,” Arya says as she rounds the corner from her room, cell phone in hand. Her other hand is on her stomach, soaked with blood. She stops and stares at him for a moment.
“You’ve seen me in my underwear before,” Gendry says, rolling his eyes.
“You didn’t say you were hurt.” She’s frowning, and Gendry glances down at the mass of bruises covering his torso. He’s pretty sure at least one of his ribs is broken, but that’s the least of his concerns.
“I’ll have Sam look at it when he’s done with you, call him,” Gendry advises. He goes to his room to find a fresh change of clothes and, thinking fast, calls, “Don’t bleed out on the couch!”
“I won’t!” Arya replies. He hears her muttered jackass and tries not to laugh.
When he’s in a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, he helps Arya up onto the kitchen table. His hands hover over the wound, uncertain.
“You call Sam?” he asks, not looking up from the bloody mess.
“Yeah,” Arya replies, voice soft.
“He on his way?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m bloody well not okay. We were just tortured for, like, three days. And then I was stabbed.”
“Well, if you had been faster-”
“Shut the fuck up, it was the Waif, you know how much she hates me-”
“Fair enough,” Gendry snorts. “I don’t know how she figured out who I was, though, that was clever of her.”
“She wasn’t clever enough,” Arya says triumphantly. “And now she’s dead.”
“Now she’s dead,” Gendry agrees. No thanks to him, really, he was too busy being tied up while Arya did all the work. With a stab wound. “You should probably get the bloody costume off.”
“It’s not a costume, it’s a suit,” Arya corrects him. He rolls his eyes again. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have facial movements-”
“Are you guys always like this?” Sam asks from the open doorway.
“Fuck!” Gendry yells, jumping. Arya snorts. “Sam, I feel like you should know better than to sneak up on us by now.”
“Oh, I can’t sneak up on Arya,” Sam says cheerfully. He closes the door behind him and locks it, then sets several bags down around the room. “I brought a pop-up IV and stuff for a blood transfusion but I wasn’t sure what type you were, Arya. In case we need it, you just said you were bleeding out.”
“Hold on,” Arya says. “Sam, did you know Gendry was Waterfall?”
“Course I did, everyone knows I’m the superhero doctor,” Sam says, still much too cheerful for three in the morning and the fact that he’s snapping on gloves to perform surgery. “I know pretty much every hero in town.”
“Of course you do,” Arya mutters. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Superhero business is superhero business,” Sam shrugs. “Lay down. Do you want anesthesia?”
“I- yes, of course I do,” Arya says.
“Give her the strong stuff,” Gendry suggests.
“I’m not talking to you,” Arya tells him as she lays down. “I’m mad at you.”
“Why, because I’ve saved your life more times than I can count?”
“We’re supposed to be rivals,” Arya protests. “How can I be rivals with my best friend?”
“You seem to make it work,” Gendry snorts.
“Ooh, that is nasty,” Sam says as he peels away the layers of Arya’s costume- suit. “Okay, I’m gonna numb it up. Ready?”
Arya hisses and reaches out to grip Gendry’s hand as Sam sticks a needle in her side. Gendry raises an eyebrow.
“Not a word,” she says. He mimes zipping his lips shut with his free hand.
Arya keeps holding onto him as Sam stitches her up, then as he sets up an IV and a blood transfusion, still on their kitchen table. “Just in case,” he says, and neither of them complain. Gods know Dawnbringer’s going to be back on the news by the end of the week.
When it’s done, Sam packs up and leaves, just as cheerful as he came in. Gendry helps Arya over to the couch. She stares at him for a moment after she props her feet up.
“What?” he asks.
“Get me a sweatshirt,” she demands. He sighs and heads to her room. “One of yours.”
Gendry stops, turns and looks at her. She looks back, as if daring him to say something. He gets her a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from his closet, then helps her into them. Then he sits next to her on the couch. She sticks her feet in his lap.
“I’m not giving you a foot massage,” he tells her. “We’re not at that level of domesticity.”
Arya snorts, then full-on laughs, then winces and puts a hand to her stomach.
“Okay,” she says eventually. “But we are at a level of domesticity.”
“Arya-”
“Shut up,” she says, swinging her legs down and maneuvering herself so she’s fully on his lap. Then she kisses him.
He shuts up.