[ When she wakes up, they're already on their way out of London, Barry's knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. He's laid Polly out in the back seat, a towel underneath her and a ragged throw over her shoulders, the first aid kit haphazardly reassembled and tossed onto the floor, rattling now and then as he drives. He isn't driving as quickly as he usually does, having curbed his usual tendencies in order to make the ride as smooth as possible. (He doesn't need to be responsible for jostling anything else out of place.)
This isn't the sort of situation that he's exactly equipped to deal with. He can run with the best of them, but he's always done it on his own up until this point, and he's never had to care for anyone so badly injured. Looking after yourself doesn't quite amount to the same thing.
It's raining, and the dull rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Almost as soon as she's awake, his eyes fix on her in the rearview mirror, brow creasing in concern. ]
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This isn't the sort of situation that he's exactly equipped to deal with. He can run with the best of them, but he's always done it on his own up until this point, and he's never had to care for anyone so badly injured. Looking after yourself doesn't quite amount to the same thing.
It's raining, and the dull rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Almost as soon as she's awake, his eyes fix on her in the rearview mirror, brow creasing in concern. ]
Y' wake?