Yeah, when a ginger like Marissa looked pale you knew that things were pretty bleak. She'd always liked how well she fit in Sturgis' large arms (any man's large arms, really, it made her feel safe -- even though she'd never admit it) and now it was more comforting than she could say.
She nodded weakly and curled her mostly-uninjured arm around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder and trying to concentrate on what he was saying. Oh, Merlin's rotten fucking right testicle ... St. Mungo's had been hit too?
As long as they were taking patients she supposed that it would be all right, but it was still a shock to hear. How far had all of this gotten? Next he'd be telling her that Scotland had plummetted into the water or something ridiculous like that.
"Mungo's, right." That was ... probably a really good idea, she thought fuzzily as her eyes began to slip shut. She was so ... tired.
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